+  +  +•  $  v  ¥¥¥¥¥'  w.  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥         ¥  *  « 

¥        v  ¥'  '¥  v  ;*:  *:  *  *  %     0  &  &  i 

¥  +  ¥  +  ¥  +•  :*:  $  ¥  0.  ¥  ¥  .0  .0.  .0.  0.  0  0  0  a  0.  0.  a 

¥     +■  ¥'  ¥'  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥. 

0  V  0  ¥'  ¥'  V  V  0  0  0  0  0  0.  0  0  .0  0.  0  0  0  0  &  0  0  0 

+  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥'  '¥"  '¥'  0  0  0  0.  0.  0.  0.  &  0  0  0.  0.  0.  0.  '&  &.  a 

■¥-  +■  V  ¥  '¥'  '¥  '¥'  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0.  0  0  A  A 
'¥'  ¥   ¥'"  '¥'  ¥'  V  '¥'  0   0   '0.    0.   0'.   0.   0. .  0.   0   0   0   0   0   0   0   0.   0.  0 

0  ¥  ¥  V  ¥'  V  '0  0  0  '0.  0.  0.  0.  0.  0  0  0.  0.  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0 
¥   '¥'  '¥'  '0  V  '0    0.    0    0    0    0.    0.    0.    0.    0    0.    0    0    0    0    0    0    0.    0.  A  . 

¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥'  '¥'  '0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  .0 
0    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥'  '¥'   ¥    ¥    ¥   0    ¥    0    0    0    0    0    0.    0.    0    0   0.    0    0.   0  0 

0  0  0  0.  ¥ 


0     0.     0.  0 

¥  ¥  ¥  0  0. 

0  0  0  0: 

¥  0  0  0  0 
¥    ¥   0   0  . 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  0. 
¥   ¥   ¥  ¥ 

¥  ¥  0  ¥'  0 
0   ¥   0  0 

0  0  0  0  0 
0     0    0  0 

0   0   0   0  0 

¥  0  ¥'  ¥ 
¥   ¥   ¥   ¥  ¥ 

¥  ¥  0  0 
0   0    0   ¥  0 

0  0  0  0 
¥    ¥   ¥   ¥  ¥ 

¥  0  0  ¥ 
¥    ¥   0   0  0 

0  0  0  0 
0     0     0     0  0 

0  0  0  0 
0     0     0     0  0 

0   ¥  ¥  ¥ 

0     0     0     0  0. 

0  0  0  0 
0     0     0     0  0 

0  0  0  0 
0     0     0     0  0. 

0  0  0  0 
0     0     0     0  0 

0  0  0  ¥ 
¥     ¥'     ¥     ¥  ¥ 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  . 
¥"   ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥ 

0  ¥  ¥  0. 
¥   0.  0.  0  ¥ 

¥   ¥   ¥  ¥ 
¥   ¥   ¥   ¥  ¥ 

0   ¥   ¥  ¥ 
¥   0   0    0  ¥ 

0.    ¥    0  0. 

0  0  0  0  0 
0       0       0  0. 


When  you  leave,  please  leave  this  book 

Because  it  has  been  said 
"Sver'tbing  comes  t'  him  who  waits 

Except  a  loaned  book." 


Avery  Architectural  and  Fine  Arts  Library 
Gu  t  of  Seymour  B.  Durst  Old  York  Library 


¥¥':*¥"¥:¥¥: 

If'    0    0    0    0    0  0 

0    0    0    ¥    ¥   ¥  ¥ 

£    0    0    0    0    0.  0. 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 

¥.  ¥  0  0  0.  0  0 

0  0  0  0  0  0  0 
)■      ¥     0     ¥     ¥     0.  0, 

0  0  0  0  0  0  0 
¥.    0    0.    0    0    0*  0 

¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥.  ¥ 
K    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥  ¥ 
'¥    0    0    0    0    0  0 

¥  0  0  0  0  0  0. 

0  0  0  0  0  0  0 
¥    0    0    0    0    0  0 

0  0  0  0  0  0  0 
fr     0     0     0     0.     0  0. 

¥     ¥     0     0     0.     0  0 

£   ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥  ¥ 

'0.    0    0     0.    0.     0  0 

¥   ¥    ¥   ¥  ¥   0  0 

0    0    0     0     0     0  0 

\~    0    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥  ¥ 

'¥  0  0  0  0  0  0 

¥     0     0     0     0     0  0. 
0    0    0    0    0    0  0 

¥  0  0  0  0  0  0 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
h    0   ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥  ¥ 

0    0    0    0.    0    0.  0 

¥    0    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥  0 
¥¥¥¥¥:¥  ¥ 

¥    0    0    0.0.    0.  0. 
0     0     0     0     0     0.  !* 

¥    ¥    ¥    0   0   0  0 
0    0    0   0   0   0  .H 
•'  ¥  0  ¥  0   0.  0. 
¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥    0  $ 

1  0  '  ¥   0   ¥   0  0 

0  $  0  0  0  0.  :h 

1  0     0     0     0    0  0. 

0  0  0  0  ¥  ¥  :* 

1  0     0    0    0    0.  ¥ 

0  0.  0  0  0  0  0 

r     0    0     0    0    0  0. 


¥    ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥'    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    0   0   0.   0   0.   0  $ 
0   0   ¥   ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥   ¥'   ¥   ¥   0   0  0   0   0   ¥   0.   0.  0 

0    0    .0     0     0    0     0     0    0    0     0     0    0     0    0    0     0    ¥    0.    0.    0.    0.    0    0  0 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥'  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  0  ¥  0  0  0  0 
0.    0    0    0   0'.   0.   0   0    0    0    0    0.    0   0    0.  .0   0    0   0.    0.    0    0.    0.  0  0 

0     0     0     0.     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     ¥  ¥ 

¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥'   ¥   ¥!   0   0  0    0   0   0.   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥   0   0   ¥   0   ¥   0.   0   0  'M 
¥    ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥  0.t* 

0   0   0   0    0   0    0    0   0   0    0   0   0    0   0    0    0    0    0   0    0   0   0    ¥   ¥  H 
¥    ¥    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0     0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    ¥    0  0 

¥    ¥    0.    0.    0.    0    0    0    0    0     0    '0    0    0    0     0     0    0    0    0.    0    0    0    0.  0 
0.    ¥    0    0    .0    0    .0    0    0    .0'   0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0     0  ¥ 


¥  $   $  *   *   *       *..+..+.¥¥.  *   ¥.*¥..¥¥.  .¥.  .¥.*..¥  .* 

$      ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥     ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥!¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥$•¥##¥¥¥¥¥¥;¥ 

¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥    *    ¥    ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥#¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥#¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
¥  ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥  ¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥;¥¥¥¥¥¥¥'¥¥¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥.¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 

¥¥¥'¥¥'¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥:¥¥¥!¥¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ '  ¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥:¥!¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥ 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥;¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥*:¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥  0¥    ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥,¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥'¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥!  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥ 
;¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥#  ¥¥¥!¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
¥   ¥  ¥   ¥.  ¥  ¥   ¥.   ¥.  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥¥¥¥.¥¥¥¥¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥'¥¥"  ¥'¥¥¥¥¥!¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥:¥¥¥¥'¥¥¥¥: 

¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥  ¥ 
¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥  ¥ 
;¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥   ¥'  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
m        ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥    ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥  ¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥  ¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥'¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥   ¥  ¥  ¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
¥¥.¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥'¥'¥  ¥¥¥ 
.   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥.   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥  ¥ 
#¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥  ¥ 

;¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥!¥!¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥!¥    ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥. 

¥¥»¥¥¥¥¥:¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥   ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥'   ¥   ¥'   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥  ¥ 

¥   ¥   ¥'   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥'   ¥'    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥  ¥ 
¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥!   ¥   ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥'  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 

¥   ¥  ¥¥¥¥¥'¥'¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥  ¥    ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥ 
§t   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥  ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥  ¥  ¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥:  ¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥:¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
.¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥:¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 

¥    ¥    ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥ 
¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥    ¥¥¥¥¥¥    ¥    ¥    ¥  ¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥'¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥'¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥!¥¥:¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥:¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥^¥¥!¥¥¥'¥¥¥¥¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥!¥¥:¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥  ¥ 

¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥'   ¥    ¥.    ¥    ¥'   ¥  ¥. 
¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  #  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥.  ¥ 
;  ¥¥¥¥¥'¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥"  ¥¥¥'¥¥¥¥  ¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥:¥¥'¥¥'¥:¥¥¥¥¥ 
;  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥\  ¥#¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥!¥  #  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥ 
.   ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥.   ¥   &    ¥   ¥-  ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥  ¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥¥¥!¥¥#¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥!¥  !*'  ¥!¥¥¥¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥:¥¥¥!¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥"¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥: 
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥;¥¥;¥¥¥"¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 


OF 

AMERICA. 


GEEEN-WOOD. 


1 

Digitized  by 

the  Internet  Archive 

in  2013 

http://archive.org/details/greenwoodillustrOOclea_0 


/ 


ILLUSTRATED. 

IN 

$iijt)lB  finiztytb  Cine  €ngrat)ing, 


FROM  DRAWINGS  TAKEN  ON  THE  SPOT. 

BY  JAMES  SMILLLE. 

WITH 

DESCRIPTIVE  NOTICES, 
BY  NEHEMIAH  CLEAVELAND. 

\YHITL0CK,  i 

NEW  YORK  : 

PUBLISHED  BY  R.  MARTIN,  170  BROADWAY. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1847. 
By  ROBERT  MARTIN, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


GREEN-WOOD. 


»  The  hills, 

Rock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun  ; — the  vales, 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between  ; — 
The  venerable  woods" — 

"  and  pour'd  round  all, 
Old  ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste — 
Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all, 
Of  the  great  tomb  of  man." 

Bryant. 

It  is  fifteen  years  since  Mount  Auburn,  near  Boston,  was  set  apart 
as  a  place  of  sepulture.  It  was  the  first  attempt  in  this  country,  to 
meet  a  want  which  had  long  been  felt.  Happily  conceived,  and  well 
executed,  it  soon  led  the  way  to  similar  enterprises  in  other  cities ;  and 
now,  there  is  scarcely  a  large  town  which  has  not,  in  its  neighborhood, 
a  rural  cemetery.  To  regard  this  great  movement  as  merely  imitative, 
or  fashionable,  would  be  doing  it  injustice.  The  impropriety  of  making 
interments  beneath  and  around  churches,  and  in  the  festering  burial- 
grounds  of  cities,  was  generally  acknowledged.  Injurious  to  health, 
offensive  to  the  senses,  repulsive  to  the  taste  of  a  refined  age,  the  prac- 
tice had  become  a  confessed  nuisance,  which  all  desired,  but  none 
knew  how  to  abate.  Long  usage,  invested  capital,  the  affections  them- 
selves, which  make  us  wish  to  be  laid  by  the  side  of  those  we  have 
loved, — all  combined  to  perpetuate  the  evil. 


2 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


The  idea  of  a  rural  cemetery,  sufficiently  remote  to  be  beyond  the 
range  of  city  improvements,  yet  so  near  as  to  be  of  convenient  access, 
seemed  to  reach,  at  once,  all  the  necessities  of  the  case.  Large  enough 
for  the  wants  of  many  generations,  it  furnishes,  in  its  guarded  enclo- 
sure, full  security  against  those  violations  of  the  grave,  by  which  the 
zeal  of  science  or  of  gain  has  so  often  shocked  public  sentiment,  and 
deeply  injured  the  feelings  of  survivors.  The  vault,  so  unpleasant  to 
many,  might  indeed  be  found  here,  but  it  would  no  longer  be  the  inev- 
itable resting-place  of  the  departed.  Hither  wounded  Affection  could 
resort,  attracting  no  notice,  and  dreading  no  intrusion.  Here  Sorrow 
could  bring  its  graceful  offerings,  and  Taste  and  Art  join  with  Nature 
herself,  in  adorning  the  last  home  of  the  loved  and  lost.  To  its  silent 
solitudes  the  thoughtful  would  come  to  meditate ; — here  the  man  of 
business  and  care  would  often  reassure  his  hesitating  virtue; — and 
here,  amid  the  thousand  witnesses  of  mortality,  and  in  all  the  soothing 
influences  of  the  scene,  the  gay  and  reckless  would  read  lessons  of 
wisdom  and  piety. 

To  the  importance  of  this  reform,  New  York,  though  somewhat 
slow  to  move,  could  not  but  at  length  awake.  If  anywhere  the  evils 
alluded  to  were  obvious  and  vast ;  if  in  any  city  better  accommodations 
were  imperatively  demanded,  that  city  was,  emphatically,  this  great 
and  growing  metropolis.  Again  and  again,  in  the  progress  of  improve- 
ment, the  fields  of  the  dead  had  been  broken  up,  to  be  covered  with 
buildings,  or  converted  into  open  squares.  The  tables  of  death  showed 
that,  already,  nearly  ten  thousand  human  bodies  must  be  annually 
interred :  while  calculation  made  it  all  but  certain  that,  in  half  a  cen- 
tury more,  the  aggregate  would  be  told  in  millions. 

The  island  of  New  York  presenting  no  secure,  or  at  least  no  very 


INTRODUCTION. 


3 


eligible  spot  for  a  cemetery,  attention  was  turned  to  a  large,  unoccupied 
tract  in  Brooklyn,  lying  near  Gowanus  Bay.  As  if  providentially  de- 
signed and  reserved  for  the  very  use  to  which  it  has  been  put,  it  would 
be  difficult  to  name  a  particular  in  which  these  grounds  could  have 
been  better  adapted  to  that  use.  Within  sight  of  the  thronged  mart, 
and  not  three  miles  from  its  busiest  haunts,  Green-Wood  enjoys,  nev- 
ertheless, perfect  seclusion.  It  is  of  ample  extent,  and  there  is  hardly 
a  square  rod  of  it  which  may  not  be  used  for  burial.  Its  numerous 
avenues  and  paths  furnish  a  long  and  delightful  drive,  presenting  con- 
tinually, scenes  of  varied  beauty.  Now  you  pass  over  verdant  and 
sunny  lawns, — now  through  park-like  groves, — and  now  by  the  side  of 
a  tangled,  unpruned  forest.  At  one  moment,  you  are  in  the  dell,  with 
its  still  waters,  its  overhanging  shade,  and  its  sweet  repose.  At  the 
next,  you  look  out  from  the  hill-top,  on  the  imperial  city,  with  its 
queenly  daughter — on  the  bay,  so  beautiful  and  life-like — down  into 
the  quiet,  rural  hamlet — or  beyond  it,  on  the  distant  ocean. 

Green- Wood  Cemetery  was  incorporated  in  1838,  but  from  various 
causes,  did  not  commence  successful  operations  till  four  years  later. 
Its  charter,  with  some  amendments  since  made,  embraces  every  desira- 
ble provision  for  the  security,  permanence,  and  proper  government  of 
the  institution. 

It  authorizes  and  directs  the  land  acquired  by  the  corporation,  to  be 
disposed  of  and  used  exclusively  for  the  burial  of  the  dead. 

It  exempts  such  lands  forever  from  assessment,  and  from  all  public 
taxes ;  and  also  from  all  liability  to  be  sold  on  execution,  or  for  the 
payment  of  debts  by  assignment  under  any  insolvent  law. 

It  requires  that,  when  the  payment  of  the  purchase-money  of  the 
land  shall  have  been  made,  "  the  proceeds  of  all  future  sales  shall  be 


4 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


applied  to  the  preservation,  improvement,  and  embellishment  of  the 
said  Cemetery,  and  to  the  incidental  expenses  thereof,  and  to  no  other 

PURPOSE  WHATEVER." 

It  authorizes  the  corporation  to  hold,  upon  trust,  any  donation  or 
bequest  of  property,  and  to  apply  the  same,  or  the  income  thereof,  for 
the  improvement  or  embellishment  of  the  Cemetery,  or  for  the  erection, 
repair,  preservation,  or  renewal  of  any  tomb,  monument,  or  fence,  or 
for  the  planting  and  cultivation  of  trees,  shrubs,  flowers,  or  plants,  in  or 
around  any  cemetery  lot,  or  for  improving  the  said  premises  in  any 
other  form  or  manner,  consistent  with  the  design  of  the  charter,  and 
conformably  to  the  terms  of  such  grant  or  bequest. 

Every  proprietor  of  a  lot  or  parcel  of  ground  containing  not  less 
than  three  hundred  square  feet,  may  vote  at  any  election  for  Trustees 
of  the  Corporation ;  and  the  Trustees,  fifteen  in  number,  must  in  all 
cases  be  chosen  from  among  the  proprietors  of  the  lots. 

Thus  it  appears  that  proprietors  of  lots  acquire  not  merely  the  privi- 
lege of  burial,  but  the  fee-simple  of  the  ground  which  they  purchase  ; — 
that,  being  the  sole  owners  of  the  Cemetery,  they,  by  their  vote  in  the 
election  of  Trustees,  control,  directly,  the  government  of  the  institu- 
tion;— that  no  pecuniary,  or  other  conflicting  interest  can  exist,  to 
counteract  the  general  wishes  of  the  lot-owners ; — and  that,  as  the  lots 
are  not  subject  to  public  charge,  nor  held  liable  for  debts,  nor  subject 
to  assessment  by  the  institution,  they  can  never  be  forcibly  taken  from 
the  purchasers. 

The  grounds  comprise  about  one  hundred  and  eighty-five  acres. 
Arrangements  for  extending  these  limits  are  in  progress,  which  will 
give,  when  completed,  an  area  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  acres.  Al- 
though now  much  larger  than  any  other  of  our  cemeteries,  it  will 


INTRODUCTION. 


5 


scarcely,  even  in  its  contemplated  increase,  be  proportioned  to  the 
wants  of  the  great  and  fast-augmenting  population,  which  it  is  designed 
to  accommodate.  That  population  is  already  nearly  a  half-million; 
and  if  the  past  be  prophetic  of  the  future,  it  will  take  years  only,  or 
tens  of  years,  to  make  New  York,  in  point  of  magnitude,  what  centu- 
ries and  tens  of  centuries  have  made  Paris  and  London.  It  is  then 
but  a  wise  forecast,  thus  liberally  to  provide  for  the  sure  and  fast- 
coming  future.  The  ground  will  all  be  wanted — it  will  be  all  used. 
Those  already  exist,  who  will  behold  it  when  it  shall  have  become  a 
vast  city  of  the  Dead,  outnumbering  that  of  the  living  by  its  side. 

Only  four  years  have  elapsed  since  Green- Wood  was  publicly 
opened  for  interments.  Within  that  time,  about  fourteen  hundred  lots 
have  been  sold.  The  avenues,  which  wind  gracefully  over  every  part 
of  its  undulating  surface,  for  an  extent  of  more  than  ten  miles,  have 
been  put  into  perfect  order.  With  a  judicious  regard  to  both  utility 
and  effect,  the  natural  conformation  of  the  ground  has,  in  many  in- 
stances, been  somewhat  varied  and  improved.  The  trees,  a  prominent 
feature  of  the  place,  have  generally  been  preserved,  though  here  and 
there  removed,  to  open  vistas  through  the  copse,  and  make  the  grounds 
more  available  or  more  picturesque.  Much  work  has  been  done  in 
removing  every  unsightly  object  and  obstruction,  and  in  enriching  and 
beautifying  the  yet  unoccupied  space.  Of  the  purchased  lots,  a  large 
proportion  are  neatly  and  substantially  enclosed  by  iron  paling ;  while 
monuments  and  sepulchral  structures,  already  numerous,  and  many 
of  them  new  and  beautiful  in  design,  consecrate  and  embellish  the 
ground. 

In  one  respect  Green- Wood  differs,  it  is  believed,  from  every  simi- 
lar institution ; — a  peculiarity  which  it  owes,  partly,  to  its  ample 


G 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


accommodations  and  natural  facilities,  and  still  more,  to  judicious  reg- 
ulations adopted  at  the  outset.  Reference  is  made  to  the  appropriation 
of  large  lots  for  the  use  of  families  and  societies.  Taking  advantage 
of  the  natural  inequalities,  the  summits  and  sides  of  the  knolls  have 
been  enclosed  in  circles  or  ellipses,  as  their  shape  and  position  required. 
By  the  greater  size,  as  well  as  by  the  form  of  these  lots,  and  the  intro- 
duction, in  some  cases,  of  other  figures,  much  has  been  done  to  avoid 
the  rigid  sameness,  which  would  result  from  a  division  of  the  whole 
surface  into  equal  parallelograms.  By  giving  wider  spaces  between 
the  lots,  it  tends  to  prevent  crowding  and  confusion,  when  funerals  are 
numerously  attended ;  and  though  some  space  is  lost  to  purposes  of 
interment,  it  is  secured  for  beauty  and  for  a  higher  utility. 

But  it  is  the  provision  which  it  makes  for  associated  families,  and 
for  religious  and  other  communities,  which  gives  to  this  arrangement 
its  chief  value.  Not  only  may  the  single  family  enjoy  the  solace  of 
feeling  that  they  have  secured  for  themselves  one  guarded  and  hal- 
lowed spot,  but  its  kindred  and  affiliated  branches  can  make  common 
cause,  and  the  ties  of  friendship  and  consanguinity  shall  become 
stronger  in  life,  when  they  shall  not  seem  wholly  severed  at  the 
grave. 

Again,  those  whose  bond  of  union  has  been  community  of  sen- 
timent,— who  have  been  associated  in  labors  of  self-improvement  and 
of  benevolence, — who  have  listened  so  often  in  the  same  sanctuary,  to 
those  lessons  of  faith  and  hope,  which  alone  can  take  from  death  its 
sting,  and  from  the  grave  its  victory, — may  here  lie  down,  the  rich  and 
the  poor  together,  as  was  the  wont  of  old,  in  their  own  church-yard. 

Several  religious  societies  have  secured  grounds  in  the  Cemetery. 
One  church  has  already  enclosed  a  large  and  handsome  mound,  and 


INTRODUCTION. 


7 


consecrated  it  to  its  use  with  appropriate  rites.  Around  its  circumfer- 
ence are  the  lots  of  individual  members,  while  an  inner  circle  is  re- 
served for  the  Pastor  and  for  those  of  humbler  means.  It  was  a  happy 
and  a  Christian  thought,  to  provide  for  their  poorer  brethren,  when  the 
toils  of  life  shall  be  over,  an  unexpensive  resting-place,  as  respectable 
and  beautiful  as  their  own.    The  example  is  well  worthy  of  imitation. 


THE  ENTRANCE. 


"  Enter  this  wild-wood, 
And  view  the  haunts  of  Nature.    The  calm  shade 
Shall  bring  a  kindred  calm,  and  the  sweet  breeze 
That  makes  the  green  leaves  dance,  shall  waft  a  balm 
To  thy  sick  heart." 

Green -Wood  occupies  a  portion  of  the  high  ground  which  separates 
Gowanus  Bay  from  the  plains  of  Flatbush.  The  most  agreeable, 
though  not  the  shortest  route,  is  the  ancient  road  running  from  Brook- 
lyn along  the  western  shore  of  Long  Island,  to  Fort  Hamilton.  At  the 
distance  of  two  and  a  half  miles  from  the  South  Ferry,  a  short,  straight 
avenue  leads  from  the  main  street  of  Gowanus  to  the  gate. 

The  entrance  is  perfectly  simple.  On  the  left  of  the  gate  is  a  rustic 
lodge,  for  the  temporary  accommodation  of  visiters.  On  the  right,  and 
in  the  same  style,  is  a  small  tower,  with  a  bell  to  summon  the  Porter. 
These  unambitious  structures  will  be  found  in  good  keeping  with 
each  other,  and  with  the  position  they  occupy.  They  possess  beauty 
of  form,  and  of  fitness  likewise.  Perhaps  some,  accustomed  to  more 
imposing  entrances,  may  feel  disappointed  by  the  modest  humility  of 
this.  But  may  not  the  taste  at  least  be  questioned,  which  makes  the 
passage-way  from  one  open  space  to  another,  through  some  lofty  arch, 
or  massive  building  ?  Can  such  a  structure  look  well,  with  no  support, 
on  either  side  of  it,  but  an  ordinary  fence  1    Must  it  not  always  lack 


THE  ENTRANCE. 


9 


the  beauty  of  adaptation  to  an  end — the  essential  beauty  of  usefulness  ? 
And  if  it  be,  as  most  frequently,  of  Grecian  or  Egyptian  model,  is  it  not 
incongruous  with  the  spirit  and  associations  of  a  Christian  cemetery  ? 
Of  the  simple  entrance  temporarily  made  for  these  grounds,  we  may  at 
least  say,  that  here  Art  raises  no  false  expectation,  nor  does  it  offend 
by  unnatural  contrasts.  But,  enter.  If  the  artificial  portal  be  deficient 
in  dignity,  not  so  will  you  find  that  of  Nature.  You  are  now  in  a  ves- 
tibule of  her  own  making.  Its  floor  is  a  delicious  greensward  ;  its  walls 
are  the  steep  hill-side ;  lofty  trees,  with  their  leafy  capitals,  form  its 
colonnade ;  and  its  ceiling  is  the  azure  vault.  Here,  if  alive  to  gentle 
influences,  you  will  pause  a  moment.  You  will  shake  from  your  feet 
the  city's  dust,  and  leave  behind  you  its  care  and  follies.  You  are 
within  the  precinct  of  a  great,  primeval  temple,  now  forever  set  apart 
to  pious  uses.    You  have  come, 

"  Not  to  the  domes  where  crumbling  arch  and  column 
Attest  the  feebleness  of  mortal  hand  ; 
But  to  that  fane  most  catholic  and  solemn, 
Which  God  hath  planned !" 

Explore  its  aisles  and  courts, — survey  its  beauties, — breathe  its  fresh 
air, — enjoy  its  quiet, — drink  in  its  music, — and  lay  to  heart  its  lessons 
of  mortality,  as  well  as  its  higher  teachings  of  faith  and  love. 


THE  KEEPER'S  LODGE. 


"  A  voice  from  '  the  Green-Wood !' — a  voice  !  and  it  said, 
'  Ye  have  chosen  me  out  as  a  home  for  your  dead ; 
From  the  bustle  of  life  ye  have  render'd  me  free ; 
My  earth  ye  have  hallovv'd :  henceforth  I  shall  be 
A  garden  of  graves,  where  your  loved  ones  shall  rest !' " 

On  the  left  of  the  avenue,  and  just  beyond  the  entrance,  stands  the 
Keeper's  Lodge.  It  is  a  cottage  in  the  rustic,  pointed  style,  with  four 
gables.  The  sides  are  of  plank  uprights,  battened  with  cedar  poles, 
rough  from  the  forest.  Its  whole  exterior  is  unstnoothed  and  unpaint- 
ed, — yet  it  is  symmetrical  and  picturesque.  Embowered  in  the  grove, 
and  already  looking  old  enough  to  be  coeval  with  the  trees  that  shade 
it,  its  entire  aspect  is  in  harmony  with  the  place  and  its  associations. 
In  such  a  home,  we  sometimes  imagine,  might  have  been  found,  long 
ago,  near  the  church-yard  of  some  quiet  hamlet  in  our  fatherland,  one 
of  those  immortal  sextons,  whose  occupation  and  quaint  humor  genius 
has  loved  to  depict. 

Hard  by,  a  tower  of  the  same  primitive  order  supports  a  bell,  which 
is  rung  whenever  a  funeral  train  enters  the  grounds.  This  is  a  custom 
hallowed  by  its  own  appropriateness,  as  well  as  by  long  and  general 
observance.  In  cities,  the  tolling  of  bells  for  the  dead  has,  as  a  matter 
of  necessity,  been  long  discontinued.  In  country  villages,  however,  the 
usage  still  prevails.  The  deep  tones  of  the  bell  in  Green -Wood,  pen- 
etrating its  dells,  and  echoing  from  its  hills,  are  the  only  sounds  that 


THE  KEEPER'S  LODGE. 


11 


reach  the  mourner's  ear,  as  he  follows  some  dear  object  to  the  tomb. 
Often,  we  know,  at  such  times,  this  unexpected  but  still  familiar  sound 
has  touched  the  springs  of  memory  and  feeling,  carrying  back  the  mind 
to  the  homely  scenes,  but  bright  hours  of  childhood, — to  the  far-oft", 
native  vale, — to  that  knell  from  the  village  steeple,  which  once  called 
the  reminiscent  to  weep  over  some  sweet  flower,  cut  down  in  its  morn- 
ing beauty, — and  to  that  humble  grave-yard,  where,  bedewed  with 
tears  of  veneration  and  love,  a  father  and  mother  now  sleep,  side  by 
side. 

A  mournful  office  is  thine,  old  bell, 
To  ring  forth  naught  but  the  last  sad  knell 
Of  the  coffin'd  worm,  as  he  passeth  by, — 
And  thou  seemest  to  say,  Ye  all  must  die ! 

No  joyful  peal  dost  thou  ever  ring ; 

But  ever  and  aye,  as  hither  they  bring 

The  dead  to  sleep  'neath  the  "  Green- Wood"  tree, 

Thy  voice  is  heard,  pealing  mournfully. 

No  glad  occasion  dost  thou  proclaim — 
Thy  mournful  tone  is  ever  the  same ; — 
The  slow,  measured  peal,  that  tells  of  wo 
Such  as  those  who  feel  it  may  only  know. 

Had  thy  tongue  the  power  of  speech,  old  bell, 
Methinks  strange  stories  'twould  often  tell ; 
How  some  are  brought  hither  with  tear  and  moan, 
While  others  pass  by,  unmourn'd,  alone  ; — 

How  strangers  are  hither  brought  to  sleep, 
Whose  home,  perchance,  was  beyond  the  deep, — 
Who,  seeking  our  shore,  came  but  to  die, 
And  here  in  this  hallow'd  spot  to  lie  ; — 

How  a  wife  hath  follow'd  a  husband's  bier, — 
How  a  husband  hath  follow'd  a  wife  most  dear, — 
How  brother  and  sister  have  come,  in  turn, 
To  shed  a  tear  o'er  a  parent's  urn  ; — 


( !  K  EEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


How  the  victim  of  sorrow's  ceaseless  smart 
Hath  given  up  life  with  a  willing  heart, 
And  thought  of  this  spot  with  a  smiling  face, 
Glad  at  last  to  find  him  a  resting-place. 

I  wonder  if  thou  dost  ring,  old  bell, 
For  the  rich  man  a  louder,  longer  knell, 
Than  thou  dost  for  the  poor  who  enter  here, 
On  the  humble  and  unpretending  bier? 

And  dost  thou  ring  forth  a  peal  less  sad 
For  the  pure  and  good,  than  for  the  bad  ? 
Or  dost  thou  toll  the  same  knell  for  all — 
The  rich  and  the  poor,  the  great  and  small? 

Oh,  a  mournful  office  is  thine,  old  bell ! 
To  ring  forth  naught  but  the  last  sad  knell 
Of  the  coffin'd  worm  as  he  passeth  by, 
And  thou  seemest  to  say,  Prepare  to  die ! 


POET'S  MOUND. 


"  From  ever}'  tree  and  every  bush 
There  seems  to  breathe  a  soothing  hush ; 
While  every  transient  sound  but  shows 
How  deep  and  still  is  the  repose." 

Sylvan  Water  is  a  permanent  and  deep  pond  of  about  four  acres. 
The  visiter,  as  he  passes  along  the  elevated  summit  of  its  northern 
border,  catches,  through  the  foliage,  occasional  glimpses  of  its  bright 
surface.  A  winding  descent  soon  brings  him  to  its  margin,  and  to  a 
scene  of  beauty  and  stillness  where  he  will  love  to  linger.  Except  on 
the  western  side,  the  grounds  about  it  are  precipitous  and  high,  and  all 
round  they  are  closely  wooded.  The  trees  and  shrubs  form,  indeed,  a 
perfect  wall  of  verdure  to  this  secluded  little  lake,  while 

"  The  soft  wave,  as  wrapt  in  slumber,  lies 
Beneath  the  forest-shade." 

He  who  stands  upon  its  verge  sees  only  water,  woods,  and  sky.  He 
hears  naught  but  the  notes,  plaintive  or  lively,  of  scores  of  birds,  which 
haunt  this  dell,  and  at  times  fill  it  with  their  music.  To  the  weary  and 
worn  citizen,  it  may  well  seem  the  very  ideal  of  solitude — a  charming 
picture  of  repose.  Ever  since  he  entered  these  green-wood  shades,  he 
has  been  sensibly  getting  farther  and  farther  away  from  strife,  and 


14 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


business,  and  care ;  at  every  step  he  has  become  more  and  more 
imbued  with  the  gentle  spirit  of  the  place.  But  here  he  finds  the  illu- 
sion and  the  charm  complete.  A  short  half-hour  ago,  he  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  discordant  Babel ;  he  w  as  one  of  the  hurrying,  jostling 
crowd ;  he  was  encompassed  by  the  whirl  and  fever  of  artificial  life. 
Now  he  stands  alone,  in  Nature's  inner  court — in  her  silent,  solemn 
sanctuary.  Her  holiest  influences  are  all  around  him,  and  his  heart 
whispers,  It  is  good  to  be  here  ! 

The  monument  represented  in  the  plate  occupies  a  small  knoll  on 
the  northern  edge  of  Sylvan  Water,  and  is  a  tribute  paid  by  friendship 
to  the  memory  of  a  child  of  misfortune.  "  The  poor  inhabitant  below" 
was  the  possessor  of  talents  which,  had  his  mind  and  affections  been 
better  disciplined,  might  have  won  for  him  distinction.  But  his  efforts 
were  desultory  and  unequal.  He  became  an  unhappy  wanderer, — his 
own  and  others'  dupe, — till  at  length  reason  tottered,  and  life  sunk 
under  the  weight  of  disappointment. 

"  Unskilful  he  to  note  the  card 
Of  prudent  lore, 
Till  billows  raged,  and  gales  blew  hard, 
And  whelmed  him  o'er." 

The  monument  is  of  white  marble — a  square  block,  supporting  a 
truncated  pyramid.  On  the  northern  face  of  the  die  is  a  profile  like- 
ness of  the  poet,  in  high  relief. 

McDonald  Clarke  was  born  June  18,  1798,  and  died  March  5, 
1842. 


OCEAN  HILL. 


'  In  depth,  in  height,  in  circuit,  how  serene 
The  spectacle,  how  pure  !    Of  Nature's  works 
In  earth,  and  air,  and  earth-embracing  sea, 
A  revelation  beautiful  it  seems." 

This  is  one  of  the  most  elevated  spots  in  the  Cemetery.  It  occu- 
pies the  north-eastern  corner  of  the  grounds.  Its  western  and  southern 
sides  are  steep.  Towards  the  east  it  declines  gently  to  the  plain. 
The  principal  avenue,  called  the  Tour,  conducts  you  to  its  summit,  and 
you  find  yourself  near  the  northern  extremity  of  a  beautiful  and  com- 
manding ridge.  On  the  north  and  the  south,  the  prospect  is  bounded 
by  copse-wood.  Through  the  trees  on  the  western  side,  may  be 
caught  occasional  glimpses  of  the  pleasant  lawn  which  you  have  just 
crossed.  Toward  the  east  the  view  is  unobstructed  and  wide.  From 
the  base  of  the  hill  stretch  far  away  the  plains  of  Flatbush  and  New 
Utrecht.  Below,  a  short  mile  distant,  lies  the  little  village  of  Flat- 
bush, — an  image  of  quiet  life, — with  its  white  dwellings  and  simple 
spire ;  the  Pavilion  at  Rockaway,  some  ten  miles  off,  is  clearly  seen ; 
while  the  sea  itself,  with  here  and  there  a  sail,  terminates  the  view. 

The  beauties  of  the  eminence  seem  to  be  appreciated.  Most  of  the 
lots  on  its  summit  have  been  already  taken  and  improved.  The 
objects  delineated  in  the  plate  are  those  which  present  themselves  to 


16 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


one  who,  having  kept  along  the  Tour  from  the  west,  has  just  gained 
the  summit  of  the  hill.  The  monuments  and  the  cottage  at  once 
arrest  the  eye,  and  the  agreeable  impression  which  they  make  is  due, 
perhaps,  not  less  to  their  harmonious  grouping,  than  to  their  individual 
beauty.  Of  the  three  principal  monuments  here  given,  the  material  is 
the  same,  and  the  style  is  so  far  similar,  as  to  require  that  they  should 
be  classed  in  one  family.  Yet  are  they  specifically  distinct — each 
having  its  peculiar  merit,  and  forming  a  study  by  itself.  The  two 
which  are  seen  in  the  foreground,  were  among  the  earliest  of  the  erec- 
tions in  Green-Wood.  The  novelty  of  the  designs — their  graceful 
outline — and  the  high  finish  of  the  work,  united  with  a  height  and 
magnitude  which  give  dignity  and  effect — have  drawn  to  them  much 
attention.  They  set,  in  this  respect,  a  good  example,  and  they  have 
unquestionably  had  an  influence  on  the  taste  and  style  of  many  subse- 
quent improvements.  They  showed  that  there  are  beautiful  and  fitting 
forms  for  sepulchral  memorials,  besides  the  obelisk,  or  even  the  more 
graceful  and  classic  pillar  and  sarcophagus.  They  evinced  that  a 
pleasing  variety  in  details  is  consistent  with  the  same  scope  of  general 
design,  and  that  in  art,  as  elsewhere,  genius  is  not  confined  to  one 
idea,  nor  prone  to  make  fac-similes  of  its  own  works.  The  fault  of 
servile  imitation  in  such  matters  has  been  far  too  common,  and  a  tame 
monotony  is  its  inevitable  effect. 

The  material  employed  is  the  compact,  red  sandstone  from  New 
Jersey,  first  brought  into  use  in  the  erection  of  Trinity  Church.  The 
toughness  of  this  stone,  and  the  closeness  of  its  grain,  make  it,  in  the 
plastic  hand  of  the  carver,  almost  if  not  quite  equal  to  the  best  marble. 
No  other  stone  furnished  by  our  quarries,  and  of  equal  or  even  similar 
facility  under  the  tool,  can  resist,  it  is  believed,  so  well,  the  defacing 


OCEAN  HILL. 


17 


and  destructive  effects  of  our  humid  and  frosty  atmosphere,  and  its 
ever-changing  temperature.  If  in  its  youth  the  freestone  structure  be 
less  brilliant  and  attractive  than  that  of  marble,  it  certainly  bears  its 
age  better.  Its  surface  is  less  liable  to  accretions  and  stains ;  and  those 
which  it  does  incur,  instead  of  appearing  like  streaks  and  patches  of 
dirt,  sullying  the  lustre  of  that  which  should  be  clean  and  bright,  are 
but  time-honored  hues  and  shades,  making  it  more  beautiful.  These 
two  lots  occupy  a  somewhat  salient  angle  formed  by  the  road,  and  are, 
in  form,  spherical  triangles.  The  coping,  which  supports  a  low,  neat 
paling,  and  the  posts  at  the  corners,  are  of  the  same  stone  with  the 
principal  structures.  The  form  and  finish  of  these  minor  parts,  and 
even  the  grading  and  shaping  of  the  ground,  show  that  minute  atten- 
tion to  particulars  which  is  so  essential  to  harmony  and  fulness  of 
effect. 

The  monument  on  the  left  is  a  tripod  in  the  Roman  style,  supported 
on  the  corners  by  richly  carved,  antique  trusses,  and  resting  on  a  boldly 
moulded  base  course.  The  die  has,  on  each  of  its  faces,  a  tablet  with 
circular  head.  The  mouldings  of  its  cornice  are  simple  but  effective, 
and  it  is  surmounted  by  a  well-proportioned  urn.  Its  height  is  about 
fourteen  feet. 

On  one  of  the  tablets  is  recorded  the  death  of  a  young  mother,  and 
that  of  an  only  and  infant  child,  which  occurred  not  long  before  her 
own.  To  this  simple  statement  are  appended  these  words  from 
II.  Kings,  iv.  26  : — "  Is  it  well  with  thee  ?  Is  it  well  with  the  child  ? 
And  she  answered,  It  is  well." 

The  right-hand  monument  rests  upon  a  square  base,  with  prominent 
mouldings.  The  die  diminishes  upward  by  a  gentle  curve ;  its  angles 
are  enriched  by  a  graceful,  scolloped  leaf,  and  its  cornice  is  encircled 

5 


IS 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


by  carved  mouldings.  Above  this,  the  form  changes  from  square  to 
circular,  and  a  fine  urn  completes  the  design. 

On  the  northern  side,  standing  out  in  strong  relief,  is  a  female  bust. 
This  face,  beautifully  executed  by  Mancini,  shows  admirably  the  ca- 
pacities of  the  stone  for  expressive  sculpture ;  and  though  not  intended 
as  a  likeness,  it  calls  strongly  up  the  image  of  that  young  wife,  who, 
taken  from  life  in  the  midst  of  youth,  and  health,  and  hope,  now  rests 
beneath. 


INDIAN  MOUND. 


  "  thou  who  o'er  thy  friend's  low  bier, 

Sheddest  the  bitter  drops  like  rain, 

Hope  that  a  brighter,  happier  sphere, 
Will  give  her  to  thy  arms  again." 

The  grave  of  Do-hum-me  is  under  the  lofty  trees  that  shade  the 
northern  border  of  Sylvan  Lake.  The  earth  around  it,  hard-trodden 
by  a  thousand  feet,  bears  constant  testimony  to  the  sympathy  which  a 
tale  and  fate  like  hers,  never  fail  to  awaken.  The  impression  which 
her  extraordinary  grace  and  beauty  made  on  those  who  saw  her  here, 
is  still  retained  by  many,  and  justifies  the  glowing  picture  which  is 
given  in  the  following  sketch.  The  description  may  be  relied  on,  for 
it  is  furnished  by  one  who  knew  her  in  her  happiness,  and  who  deserted 
her  not  when  she  was  sick  and  dying.  Through  the  same  kind  instru- 
mentality, a  neat  marble  monument  was  placed  over  the  dead.  On  the 
southern  side  of  the  die,  a  figure  in  relief,  of  beautiful  workmanship,  by 
Launitz,  represents  her  bereaved  warrior,  attempting  to  hide,  while  he 
betrays  his  grief.    Upon  another  side  is  the  record  of  her  parentage  : 

DO-HUM-ME, 

DAUGHTER  OF 

NAN-NOUCE-PUSH-EE-TOE, 

A  CHIEF  OF  THE  SAC  INDIANS. 


20 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


A  third  side  is  thus  inscribed : 

DO-HUM-ME, 

WIFE  OF 

COW-HICK-KEE, 

A  YOUNG  WARRIOR  OF  THE  IOWAS. 

Upon  the  fourth  side  is  the  following  inscription : 

ID  t  £  b 

IN  NEW  YORK, 

•  March  9th,  1843, 
AGED  18  YEARS. 

"  Thou'rt  happy  now,  for  thou  hast  past 
The  cold,  dark  journey  of  the  grave  ; 
And  in  the  land  of  light  at  last, 
Hast  join'd  the  good,  the  fair,  the  brave." 

SKETCH  OF  DO-HUM-ME. 

BY  MRS.  C.  M.  SAWYER. 

Do-hum-me,  as  her  monument  briefly  sets  forth,  was  the  daughter  of 
a  chieftain  of  the  Sacs,  and  the  wife  of  a  young  war-chief  of  the  Iowas. 
But  from  the  obscurity  which  always,  to  a  certain  extent,  rests  over  the 
history  of  individuals  of  savage  nations,  her  biography,  with  all  the 
aids  which  have  been  obtained  from  those  who  knew  her,  must  neces- 
sarily be  but  a  meager  outline. 

Of  her  childhood  little  is  known,  save  that  its  one  great  bereavement, 
the  death  of  her  mother,  left  her,  at  the  early  age  of  seven  years,  cut 
off  from  all  that  watchful  care,  those  tender  endearments,  which  make 
childhood  so  happy,  and  which  none  but  a  mother  knows  so  well  how 


INDIAN  MOUND. 


21 


to  render.  But  He  who  seeth  the  wants  of  the  lowliest  of  his  children, 
knoweth  also  how  to  provide  for  them ;  and  He  awoke  in  the  breast  of 
the  remaining  parent  of  Do-hum-me,  a  strange,  subduing  tenderness, 
which  to  the  Indian  warrior  is  all  unwonted  ;  and  the  heart  of  the  stern 
old  chief,  whose  necklace  numbered  more  scalplocks  than  that  of  any 
other  of  his  tribe,  grew  soft  as  a  woman's,  when  he  looked  upon  his 
motherless  child,  until  even  the  hunting-path  and  the  council-fire  were 
forgotten  for  her  sake.  No  toil  was  too  exhausting,  no  sacrifice  too 
great  to  be  endured  for  her. 

Thus,  under  the  eye  of  paternal  watchfulness,  Do-hum-me,  silently 
as  the  flowers  of  her  own  bright  prairies,  sprang  up  to  womanhood. 
Possessing  in  an  uncommon  degree  those  traits  of  beauty  most  prized 
by  her  race — ever  gentle  and  good-humored — she  was  the  idol  of  her 
father,  and  the  favorite  of  her  tribe.  Monotonous  and  uneventful  her 
life  must  necessarily  have  been  until  her  eighteenth  year,  when  a  new, 
and,  as  it  eventuated,  fatal  era  occurred  in  her  existence. 

Prompted  partly  by  a  desire  of  adjusting  some  land  difficulties  at 
Washington,  partly  by  a  curiosity  to  behold  the  great  cities  of  the 
white  men,  and  partly  by  the  artful  and  interested  representations  of  the 
designing  and  needy,  a  delegation  of  the  Sacs  and  Towas  came  to  the 
determination  of  visiting  our  Atlantic  shores.  Do-hum-me,  under  her 
father's  care,  with  two  other  females  much  older  than  herself,  one  of 
whom  was  a  niece  of  the  celebrated  Black-hawk,  accompanied  them. 

During  their  journey  from  the  Far  West,  an  affection  sprang  up  be- 
tween the  youthful  subject  of  this  sketch  and  a  young  chief  of  the 
Iowas,  which  soon  ripened  into  an  intimacy  ending  in  marriage.  The 
interesting  ceremony  which  united  them,  was  performed  at  Paterson, 
according  to  their  own  rites,  and  in  the  presence  of  their  tribe,  and  a 

6 


22 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


number  of  white  persons  who  had  become  interested  by  the  beauty  and 
amiable  deportment  of  the  youthful  couple.  Soon  after  their  marriage 
they  arrived  in  New  York,  where  they  attracted  great  attention,  not 
less  by  their  beauty  and  gracefulness,  than  by  their  undisguised  affection 
for  one  another.  They  were  never  separated; — proud  of  each  other, 
loving  and  happy,  the  animated  smile  of  the  bridegroom,  and  the  gay, 
musical  laugh  of  the  bride,  were  a  joy  to  all  beholders.  Gifts  were 
showered  upon  them  from  all  quarters,  and  the  jewelry  of  Do-hum-me 
might  have  been  coveted  by  many  a  fairer-hued  bride. 

But  a  dark  cloud  arose  on  the  horizon  of  their  wedded  bliss,  and 
their  marriage-torch  went  suddenly  out  in  darkness.  Unaccustomed 
alike  to  the  luxuries  of  civilized  life,  which  by  well-meaning  but  mis- 
judging friends  were  too  lavishly  heaped  upon  them,  and  the  whirl  and 
bustle  by  which  they  were  continually  surrounded,  Do-hum-me  sudden- 
ly fell  a  victim  to  her  new  and  false  position.  A  violent  cold,  contracted 
one  stormy  evening  to  which  they  were  exposed,  superadded  to  indis- 
position produced  by  the  causes  already  alluded  to,  at  once  assumed 
the  alarming  character  of  inflammation ;  congestion  ensued,  and  in  a 
few  brief  hours,  all  was  over. 

Thus  died  Do-hum-me,  a  stranger,  and  in  a  strange  land.  Far  away 
from  all  familiar  things  and  places,  in  a  little  more  than  four  weeks 
from  her  bridal,  she  passed  to  her  burial.  Almost  deserted  in  her  death, 
— for  the  two  females  who  had  accompanied  her  from  her  home  had 
already  found  a  grave,  the  one  dying  in  a  hospital  of  Philadelphia,  the 
other  but  three  weeks  before  in  New  York, — and  the  thousands  who 
had  come  around  them  to  gaze  and  wonder,  at  the  rumor  of  a  conta- 
gious disease  having  broken  out  among  the  hapless  company,  had 
without  exception  taken  flight, — one  only  of  her  own  sex,  whose  sym- 


INDIAN  MOUND. 


23 


pathies  were  stronger  than  all  fear,  stood  by  her  side,  to  administer  to 
her  Avants,  to  soothe  her  last  moments,  and  to  close  her  eves  when  all 
was  over. 

An  attempt  to  describe  this  last  sad  scene,  would  be  utterly  futile. 
The  helpless  bewilderment — the  agony,  almost  despair,  of  the  doting 
father  and  husband — their  piteous  wails  and  sobs — the  irrepressible 
tears  which,  unwiped,  flowed  down  their  dusky  cheeks,  altogether 
formed  a  picture  which  can  never  be  forgotten,  and  which  forever  dis- 
proves the  oft-told  tale  of  the  Indian's  coldness  and  stoicism. 

In  the  same  gay  ornaments  with  which,  with  a  girlish  pride,  Do- 
hum-me  had  adorned  herself  for  her  bridal,  she  was  again  decked  for 
the  grave ;  and  it  was  with  no  other  feeling  than  that  of  reverence  and 
grief,  that  the  hand  of  civilization  aided  that  of  the  savage,  in  braiding 
the  dark  locks,  and  circling  the  neck  of  the  bride  of  death,  with  the 
sparkling  chain  and  gay  and  flashing  gem.  She  was  followed  to  her 
last  resting-place  by  those  dearest  to  her  in  life,  as  well  as  by  that 
friend  whom  Providence  directed  to  her  bedside  in  the  last  bitter  hour 
of  dissolution.  There,  in  a  spot  aptly  chosen  for  the  grave  of  the 
forest-girl,  she  reposes  in  the  last,  dreamless  slumber.  She  hears  not 
the  ocean-winds  that  sigh  around  her  green-roofed  dwelling ;  the  foot- 
steps of  the  frequent  pilgrim  disturb  her  not ; — for,  let  us  believe  that, 
according  to  her  own  simple  faith,  her  spirit  is  lovingly,  patiently  wait- 
ing, in  some  far-off  but  happy  sphere,  till  those  she  so  loved  on  earth 
shall  join  her,  never  more  to  be  separated. 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED 


THE  FOREST-CHILD. 

By  the  banks  of  Sylvan  Water, 

Where  the  Green-Wood  shadows  rest, 
Sleepetb  Iowa's  young  daughter, 

In  a  mournful  mother's  breast ! 
In  a  mother's  breast  that  never 

Groweth  harsh,  or  stern,  or  cold, — 
Lock'd  in  arms  that  will  forever 

Tenderly  their  child  enfold ! 

Summer  winds  above  her  sighing, 

Softly  kiss  the  drooping  flowers; 
Summer  rains,  like  lutes  replying, 

Make  sweet  music  to  the  hours ! 
Winter  snows,  around  her  falling, 

Robe  the  dell,  the  copse,  and  hill ; 
Spirits  through  the  storm  are  calling — 

But  the  maiden  sleepeth  still ! 

In  a  far-land,  where  the  prairie, 

Stretch'd  in  boundless  beauty,  lies, 
Lovely  as  a  woodland  fairy, 

Open'd  she  at  first  her  eyes ; 
Many  a  sweet  flower,  round  her  springing, 

Gladness  to  her  bosom  lent ; 
Many  a  bright  bird  o'er  her  winging, 

With  her  own  its  carol  blent ! 

Eyes  that  watch'd  her  sinless  childhood, 

Brighter  beam'd  when  she  appear'd, 
Hearts  that  braved  for  her  the  wildwood, 

Toil  or  peril  never  fear'd ! 
Thus,  with  sky  and  forest  o'er  her, 

Grew  to  maidenhood  the  child, 
While  the  light  of  love  before  her, 

On  her  path  in  beauty  smiled ! 


INDIAN  MOUND. 


From  that  far-land  came  she  hither; 

Hearts  long  loved  were  by  her  side ; 
But  we  saw  her  fade  and  wither, 

Till,  like  summer  flowers,  she  died ! 
To  her  sylvan  couch  we  bore  her, 

When  the  twilight  shadows  fell  ; 
Softly  smooth'd  the  green  turf  o'er  her, 

Where  in  death  she  slumbers  well ! 

Stricken  bride!  amid  the  places 

Thou  didst  love,  thy  grave  should  be, — 
Here,  of  all  the  pale-hued  faces, 

Who,  save  one,  has  wept  for  thee] 
Lo !  I  hear  a  sound  of  anguish 

From  the  far  Missouri's  shore — 
'Tis  the  voice  of  those  who  languish, 

That  they  see  thy  face  no  more  ! 

There  thy  sire  all  lowly  sitteth, 

Weeping  sadly  and  alone  ; 
There  thy  hunter  still  forgettcth 

Those  that  live  for  one  that's  gone ! 
Peace  be  round  their  lonely  pillow, 

In  that  far-off,  western  wild ! 
Thou,  beside  the  ocean-willow, 

Sweetly  sleep,  poor  Forest-child ! 


7 


BAY-GROVE  HILL. 


"  The  city  bright  below  ;  and  far  away, 
Sparkling  in  golden  light,  his  own  romantic  bay. 

Tall  spire,  and  glittering  roof,  and  battlement, 
And  banners  floating  in  the  sunny  air ; 

And  white  sails  o'er  the  bright  blue  waters  bent ; 
Green  isle,  and  circling  shore,  are  blended  there, 

In  wild  reality." 


Two  of  the  plates  in  this  number  are  representations  of  tombs  situa- 
ted near  the  summit  of  Bay-grove  Hill.  The  material,  the  elaborate 
execution,  and  more  than  all,  the  commanding  position  of  tjiese  struc- 
tures, make  them  particularly  prominent  and  attractive.  The  beautiful 
eminence  which  they  occupy,  is  not  far  from  the  entrance.  The  view 
from  this  spot  will  detain  the  visitor  a  moment.  An  opening  on  his 
left  reveals  to  him  the  lower  bay,  Staten  Island,  and  the  Narrows. 
Another,  in  front,  reaches  across  the  harbor,  and  is  bounded  by  the 
masts,  spires,  and  dwellings  of  New  York  and  Brooklyn.  The  little 
dell  which  he  has  just  passed,  with  its  shady  water,  is  immediately 
below.  Here,  with  a  city  of  the  living  before  him,  and  another  of  the 
dead  growing  up  around,  the  charm  of  contrast  is  felt  in  its  power. 
Here  are  presented,  as  it  were,  side  by  side,  art  and  nature — bustle  and 
repose — life  and  death ; — while  each  quiet  sail,  moving  but  noiseless, 
seems  a  fit  medium  of  communication  between  them. 


DE  WITT  CLINTON. 


"  To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 
And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes." 

The  remains  of  De  Witt  Clinton  repose  temporarily  in  one  of  the 
tombs  on  Bay-grove  Hill.  They  were  laid  here  in  the  expectation  that 
they  would  soon  find  a  final  resting-place  in  some  commanding  portion 
of  the  ground,  and  beneath  a  monument  worthy  of  his  great  name,  and 
of  the  city  and  commonwealth  which  owe  so  much  to  him.  But  this 
tribute  to  the  memory  and  services  of  her  most  distinguished  benefac- 
tor, New  York  has  yet  to  pay.  A  beginning,  indeed,  has  been  effected 
by  the  proffer  of  a  few  liberal  contributions,  but  no  general  and  earnest 
call  has  yet  been  made.  To  such  a  call,  this  great  and  wealthy  com- 
munity will  doubtless  respond  with  its  wonted  liberality. 

As  this  duty,  which  has  too  long  remained  unfulfilled,  may  soon  be 
urged  anew,  a  brief  glance  at  the  services  and  character  of  Clinton, 
may  serve  to  remind  some,  and  to  inform  others,  of  his  pre-eminent 
claims  to  such  commemoration. 

De  Witt  Clinton  was  born  1769,  at  Little  Britain,  a  small  town 
in  the  pastoral  valley  of  the  Walkill.  His  grandfather,  Charles  Clinton, 
though  of  English  descent,  came  to  this  country  from  Ireland,  in  1729. 
At  the  capture  of  Fort  Frontenac,  during  the  French  and  Indian  war, 
he  was  at  the  head  of  a  regiment,  while  two  of  his  sons,  James,  the 
father  of  De  Witt,  and  George,  afterward  Governor  of  New  York,  and 
Vice-president  of  the  United  States,  held  subordinate  commands.  In 
the  war  of  Independence,  James  Clinton  was  a  general  officer,  and 
again  did  his  country  service. 

Thus  honored  in  his  origin  and  connections,  De  Witt  gave  early 
promise  of  eminence  on  his  own  account.  He  was  one  of  the  first 
class  graduated  at  Columbia  College,  after  it  was  reopened  subse- 


28 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


quently  to  the  Revolution.  He  studied  law  with  the  celebrated  Samuel 
Jones,  and  in  due  course  was  admitted  to  the  bar.  At  this  conjuncture, 
his  uncle,  George  Clinton,  then  Governor  of  New  York,  proposed  to 
him  to  become  his  private  secretary.  Yielding  his  golden  prospects  in 
the  law,  to  considerations  of  duty  and  gratitude,  he  accepted  the  place, 
and  thus  plunged  at  once  into  the  restless  sea  of  political  life.  Adopt- 
ing, from  conviction,  the  anti-federal  opinions  of  his  uncle,  he  defended 
them  as  a  matter  of  duty ;  and  it  is  highly  creditable  to  his  power  as  a 
writer,  that  he  was  thought  by  multitudes  to  maintain  his  ground,  al- 
though his  antagonists  were  the  immortal  authors  of  the  "Federalist." 
From  1797  to  1801,  he  was  a  member  of  the  state  legislature,  and  the 
acknowledged  leader  of  his  party.  He  was  opposed,  generally,  to  the 
national  administration  of  that  period,  but  not  with  a  bitter  or  undis- 
criminating  hostility.  In  1801,  being  only  thirty-two  years  old,  he  was 
elected  senator  of  the  United  States.  In  this  august  body,  he  at  once 
took  high  rank  as  a  statesman  and  debater.  In  1803  he  was  ap- 
pointed mayor  of  New  York,  and,  with  the  exception  of  two  years, 
continued  to  hold  that  responsible  post  until  1815. 

By  virtue  of  this  office,  as  then  constituted,  he  was  the  head  of  the 
city  police,  chief  judge  of  the  criminal  court  and  common-pleas,  and 
chairman  of  the  board  of  health,  with  a  large  patronage  at  his  sole  dis- 
posal. In  the  discharge  of  these  various  and  onerous  duties,  his  course 
seems  to  have  been  uniformly  firm,  and  able,  and  honest.  During  a 
large  portion  of  the  same  period,  he  was  also  a  member  of  the  New- 
York  legislature.  Though  sharing  largely  in  the  political  conflicts  of 
those  exciting  times,  he  gave  to  objects  of  public  and  lasting  utility,  his 
great  personal  and  official  influence. 

Statesmanship  was,  with  him,  no  narrow,  selfish  policy,  looking  only 


DE  WITT  CLINTON. 


29 


to  the  advancement  of  individual  interests,  or  the  extension  and  con- 
solidation of  party  power.  To  every  scheme  of  benevolence  and 
improvement,  well  intended  and  well  devised,  he  lent  his  willing  aid. 
The  weather-beaten  old  sailor,  resting  at  last  in  his  "  Snug  Harbor." 
with  the  name  of  Randall  may  gratefully  join  that  of  Clinton,  as  hav- 
ing made  secure  to  him  his  comfortable  home.  The  Bloomingdale 
Asylum  for  the  Tnsane  was  founded  by  grants,  which  Clinton  proposed 
and  carried.  The  first  establishment  in  New  York  for  the  encourage- 
ment of  the  fine  arts,  obtained  its  charter  through  his  agency,  and  was 
ever  after  an  object  of  his  care.  Many  instances  of  his  benevolence 
and  public  spirit  are  of  necessity  omitted  ;  but  one  great  benefaction, 
belonging  to  this  period  of  his  life,  must  not  be  passed  by.  The  Free 
School  Society,  which  became  the  seminal  principle  and  the  nucleus 
of  that  great  system  of  public  instruction,  by  which  the  state  now  gives 
an  education  to  her  million  of  children,  was  devised  by  De  Witt  Clin- 
ton. By  his  exertions  a  charter  was  obtained — private  subscriptions 
were  secured — the  city  corporation  was  enlisted  in  its  favor — and 
finally,  a  liberal  grant  was  made  by  the  state.  How  humble  the  be- 
ginning,— how  magnificent  the  result !  It  may  well  be  doubted  whether 
even  the  far-reaching  mind  which  conceived  the  plan,  ever  anticipated 
the  mighty  issue  of  this  generous  endeavor  to  provide  free  schools  for 
the  neglected  children  of  New  York.  To  every  wise  and  well-meant 
effort  for  human  improvement,  this  example  is  a  perpetual  voice  of 
cheering  and  promise. 

Though  enough  has  been  adduced  in  even  these  brief  details,  to  show 
that  De  Witt  Clinton  might  well  rank  among  the  great  and  good, 
it  is  not  on  these  grounds  that  his  renown  chiefly  rests.    His  attention 

seems  to  have  been  first  turned  to  the  subject  of  improving  the  internal 
8 


30 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


communications  of  New  York,  in  1809.  Being  at  that  time  the  ac- 
knowledged leader  of  the  democratic  party  in  the  state  senate,  he  was 
invited  by  Judge  Piatt,  who  held  the  same  position  on  the  federal  side, 
to  co-operate  in  procuring  the  appointment  of  a  commission  for  exam- 
ining and  surveying  the  country  between  the  Hudson  and  Lake  Erie, 
with  reference  to  uniting  these  waters  by  a  canal.  He  assented,  and 
these  rival  aspirants, — would  that  such  spectacle  might  be  oftener  seen  ! 
— rising  above  the  selfishness  and  jealousies  of  party,  joined  heart  and 
hand  in  this  great  undertaking.  In  the  following  summer,  as  one  of  the 
commissioners,  he  examined  the  entire  route,  and  from  that  time,  never 
doubted  the  importance  or  feasibility  of  the  work.  In  1812,  the  pros- 
pects of  the  enterprise,  which,  up  to  that  time,  had  been  highly  auspi- 
cious, were  interrupted  by  the  commencement  of  hostilities  with 
England.  In' 1815  the  storm  of  war  had  passed  away,  but  the  position 
of  parties  and  of  individuals  was,  in  many  instances,  greatly  altered. 
The  fluctuating  tide  of  popular  favor,  on  whose  topmost  wave  Clinton 
had  so  long  ridden,  had  now  subsided,  leaving  him  stranded  on  the 
shore.  But  though  out  of  office — though  discarded  by  the  party  which 
he  had  served  and  led — he  possessed  still  that  better  influence,  which 
high  talent,  well  and  steadily  devoted  to  the  public  good,  never  fails  to 
acquire.  This  soon  became  manifest.  He  drew  up  a  memorial,  ex- 
hibiting the  practicability  and  usefulness  of  the  proposed  canal ;  the 
expediency  of  constructing  it,  though  it  should  yield  no  revenue ;  the 
probable  cost,  and  the  unquestionable  ability  of  the  state  to  meet  it. 
Its  lucid  statements  and  convincing  argument,  carried  conviction  every- 
where. Its  presentation  to  the  legislature  was  soon  followed  by  the 
act  of  17th  April,  1816,  "to  provide  for  the  improvement  of  the  inter- 
nal navigation  of  the  state."    He  was  appointed  one  of  the  five  com- 


DE  WITT  CLINTON. 


31 


missioners  constituted  by  this  act,  and  entered  forthwith  upon  the 
work. 

The  star  of  Clinton  was  clearly  again  in  the  ascendant.  The  office 
of  governor  having  become  vacant  in  1817,  he  was  raised  to  the  chair 
by  a  vote  nearly  unanimous.  The  change  was  wonderful.  Old  party 
"lines  could  no  longer  be  found.  The  golden  age  had  returned.  Such 
was  the  pleasing  dream  of  many  who  beheld  the  treacherous  calm. 
But  not  then,  assuredly,  had  parties  in  New  York  acquired  the  grace- 
ful art, 

"  To  rise  with  dignity,  with  temper  fall." 

The  sweet  harmony  of  consenting  voices,  which  had  so  lately 
charmed  all  ears,  was  soon  changed  to  harsh  discord.  Discontents 
arose.  New  combinations  of  party  were  formed.  Governor  Clinton 
and  his  measures  were  strongly  opposed.  Even  the  canal  was  not 
spared.  Faction,  in  its  frothy  violence,  could  find  for  this  most  mag- 
nificent of  human  enterprises,  no  worthier  designation  than  that  of 
"  the  big  ditch." 

From  this  acrimonious  contest  Clinton  came  out  victorious,  but 
with  a  diminished  majority.  His  second  term  of  office  was  one  pro- 
tracted battle.  A  majority  of  the  legislature  was  unfriendly.  His 
political  opponents  were  able,  as  well  as  numerous  and  active.  Weary, 
at  length,  of  the  unprofitable  struggle  and  thankless  honor,  he  declined 
a  third  trial,  and  retired  to  private  life. 

During  all  these  fluctuations  of  the  political  world,  the  canal,  that 
great  object  of  his  care  and  ambition,  went  steadily  forward.  His 
able  and  unpaid  services  as  senior  commissioner,  had  been  devoted  to 
the  work  through  its  whole  progress.  Yet  in  1824,  when  it  was 
nearly  completed, — when  it  had  already  become  a  source  of  revenue 


32 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


to  the  state,  and  of  unexampled  prosperity  to  the  regions  which  it  trav- 
ersed, and  those  which  it  connected,  Clinton,  to  whom  this  great 
success  was  almost  wholly  due,  was  removed  by  a  legislative  vote,  from 
his  place  as  canal  commissioner.  No  want  of  capacity  or  fidelity  was, 
or  could  be  alleged.  Not  even  a  pretext  was  assigned.  It  was  th^ 
sovereign  act  of  politicians  in  power,  mistaking,  for  the  moment,  the 
character  and  sentiments  of  a  great  people.  No  leading-strings  of 
party  could  drag  them  to  approve  what  seemed  a  manifest  injustice. 
The  indignation  was  general.  Clinton  was  immediately  put  in  nomi- 
nation for  the  chief  magistracy ;  and  his  election  by  an  overwhelming 
majority,  assured  him  that  gratitude  and  honor  yet  survived. 

In  October,  1826,  the  final  completion  of  the  Erie  canal  was  cele- 
brated with  great  rejoicings.  It  is  easier  to  conceive  than  to  describe 
the  emotions  which  must  have  swelled  the  heart  of  Clinton,  during 
that  long,  triumphal  voyage  from  Buffalo  to  New  York,  when  the  vir- 
gin Nereid  of  our  great  inland  seas  was  conducted  to  her  bridal  with 
the  Ocean-king.  It  was  the  consummation  of  that  enterprise  to  which, 
for  more  than  fourteen  years,  he  had  consecrated  his  time  and  strength, 
his  pen  and  voice.  To  effect  it,  he  had  endured  not  only  anxiety  and 
fatigue,  but  even  obloquy  and  proscription.  Now,  with  evidence  so 
ample  that,  at  last,  those  exertions  were  widely  and  deeply  appreciated, 
the  measure  of  his  actual  fame  might  well  fill  even  his  great  ambition. 
And  still  he  must  have  known  that  the  benefits  of  the  canal  with 
which  his  name  was  now  inseparably  twined,  had  only  begun  to  be 
felt.  Rich  as  was  the  freight  which  it  already  wafted  to  the  sea,  its 
commerce  was  as  yet  but  the  mountain  rivulet,  which,  swelled  at 
length  by  a  thousand  tributaries,  would  roll  on,  a  mighty  tide,  and 
freshen  the  Atlantic  with  its  Amazon  of  waters. 


DE  WITT  CLINTON. 


33 


His  useful  career  was  now  approaching  its  close.  Again  elected  to 
the  chief  magistracy,  he  entered  on  his  last  term  of  office  in  1827.  In 
the  autumn  of  that  year  his  health  began  to  fail.  His  disease  did  not, 
however,  prevent  him  from  attending  to  his  official  and  daily  duties, 
down  to  the  very  hour  of  his  departure,  which  occurred  suddenly,  Feb- 
ruary 15,  1828.  No  palsied  energies,  no  streams  of  dotage,  marked 
the  closing  scene.  He  was  still  high  in  station  and  respect ; — still 
cheered  by  the  gratitude  and  admiration  of  his  countrymen ; — full  as 
ever  of  benevolent  and  sagacious  plans  and  deeds — when  the  summons 
came.  From  that  height  of  undiminished  usefulness,  of  influence,  and 
fame,  he  dropped  into  the  tomb. 

Twenty  years  have  passed  since  Clinton  died.  Time,  magic  healer  ! 
has  salved  the  wounds  of  political  strife,  and  the  sober  light  of  historic 
truth,  neither  dimmed  nor  deflected  by  the  mists  of  contemporary  pre- 
judice, shines  at  length  upon  his  life  and  character.  Interested  parti- 
sans have  ceased  to  lavish  on  his  name  praises  not  deserved,  and 
disappointed  enemies  no  longer  denounce  it. 

That  his  abilities  were  of  a  high  order,  was  perhaps  never  ques- 
tioned. The  well-contested  fields  of  party  strife, — the  stations  of 
honorable  and  laborious  responsibility  which  he  adorned  and  digni- 
fied,— the  enterprises  of  broad  and  permanent  usefulness  which  he 
achieved,  establish  the  point.  There  have  been  ordinary  men  of  pop- 
ular and  plausible  talents,  who  have  gained  a  short-lived  reputation  for 
greatness.  Such  was  the  case  with  some  of  Clinton's  successful  com- 
petitors for  power  and  place.  What  are  they  now  1  Hardly  can  we 
say,  "  stat  nominis  umbra !"  But  Clinton  was  of  another  stamp.  His 
ideas  were  vast,  and  his  works,  commensurate  with  the  conceptions  in 

which  they  originated,  retain  the  impress  of  a  master-hand.    His  re- 

9 


34 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


nown,  accordingly,  was  no  ephemeral  growth.  The  tree,  deep-rooted 
and  wide-branching,  while  it  has  expanded  and  grown  fairer  in  the  air 
and  sunshine,  has  also  been  tested  and  strengthened  by  the  very  blasts 
that  have  shaken  it. 

His  mind  was  distinguished  by  its  massive  strength,  rather  than  by 
variety  or  flexibility  of  power.  It  could  grasp  strongly  subjects  of 
high  import  and  wide  extent,  retaining  and  revolving  them,  until  it  had 
mastered  their  minutest  details.  The  cast  of  his  intellect  was  deci- 
dedly practical.  His  imagination,  if  not  naturally  feeble,  had  lost  its 
activity  under  early  and  habitual  restraint.  All  the  more,  perhaps,  was 
his  judgment  cool  and  discriminating.  His  untiring  industry  enabled 
him  to  bring  to  his  investigations  all  that  learning  could  contribute, 
while  his  power  to  analyze  and  recombine,  helped  him  to  turn  those 
treasures  to  the  most  effective  account.  Hence  the  wisdom  of  his 
plans,  and  his  almost  prophetic  anticipation  of  results.  Hence  he  had 
none  of  the  dreams  of  the  mere  visionary,  nor  the  dazzling  schemes 
of  an  enthusiast.  How  different  might  have  been  the  issue  of  the  canal 
enterprise  in  New  York,  had  not  the  wild  notions  and  specious  elo- 
quence of  Gouverneur  Morris  been  counteracted  by  the  clear  head, 
and  strong  good  sense  of  De  Witt  Clinton  !  That  vast  project,  which, 
under  favorable  auspices,  became  the  boast  and  wonder  of  the  age, 
might  have  perished,  a  still-born  folly,  or,  if  attempted,  could  have 
ended  only  in  utter  failure. 

The  wisdom  which  was  so  conspicuous  in  selecting  the  points  to  be 
connected,  and  the  region  to  be  traversed  by  the  proposed  canal,  as 
well  as  in  the  plan  and  prosecution  of  the  work,  was  even  more  sig- 
nally manifest  in  that  financial  basis  upon  which,  through  the  same 
influence,  it  was  made  to  rest.    To  the  exertions  of  Clinton,  New  York 


DE  WITT  CLINTON. 


3^ 


owes  it,  that,  adopting  the  only  honest  and  safe  course  in  such  matters, 
she  has  retained  her  credit  as  well  as  prosperity, — while  other  states, 
following  the  example  of  her  improvements,  but  trusting  to  the  income 
from  their  works,  for  the  liquidation  of  their  debts,  have  involved  them- 
selves in  perplexing  and  discreditable  embarrassment. 

Though  eminent  as  a  statesman, — though  unequalled  in  that  ability 
which  could  devise  and  execute  works  of  public  and  lasting  benefit, — 
his  merit  was  not  confined  to  these  departments.  He  had  a  strong 
predilection  for  scientific  pursuits,  and  found  time  to  investigate  suc- 
cessfully some  of  the  branches  of  natural  history.  His  contributions 
on  these  subjects  were  made  public,  and  still  bear  testimony  to  his  zeal 
and  assiduity.  Of  his  talents  as  a  writer,  evidence  remains  not  only 
in  numerous  state-papers,  but  in  published  addresses,  delivered  on  lit- 
erary and  civil  occasions.  The  style  of  his  oratory  seems  to  have  par- 
taken of  the  general  character  of  his  mind.  He  owed  something  to 
personal  appearance,  much  to  his  weight  of  character,  still  more  to  the 
substantial  merits  of  his  discourse.  His  elocution,  if  not  particularly 
graceful,  was  impressive  and  dignified. 

Clinton's  success  as  a  political  man,  must  be  ascribed  to  higher 
merits  than  affability  of  manners,  or  the  winning  arts  of  the  dema- 
gogue. In  his  public  communications,  and  in  social  intercourse,  where 
not  closely  intimate,  his  habits  were  stately  and  reserved.  He  had 
never  studied  in  the  school  of  modern  non-committalism,  nor  would  he 
seek,  by  an  insinuating  address,  or  by  chicane  and  intrigue,  the  influ- 
ence which  argument  and  right  had  failed  to  gain. 

In  person  he  was  tall  and  well-proportioned,  while  on  his  Roman 
brow  and  lip,  as  of  one  born  to  command,  sat  the  firmness  of  self- 
possession,  and  the  dignity  of  conscious  power. 


36 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


But  it  is  when  we  contemplate  Clinton  as  a  man,  faithful  and  true 
in  every  domestic  and  social  relation ; — as  a  patriot,  self-sacrificing  and 
devoted; — as  a  statesman  and  judge,  virtuous  and  incorruptible; — as  a 
benefactor  to  his  own  and  coining  times,  rarely  surpassed,  that  his 
name  shines  most  brightly,  and  will  be  longest  remembered.  He  was 
not,  indeed,  faultless.  We  recall  with  regret  that  devotion  to  party, 
which  on  the  one  hand,  blinded  him  to  the  faults  of  his  political 
friends,  and  on  the  other,  made  him  sometimes  unjust  and  uncharitable 
toward  his  opponents.  Through  his  whole  course  we  discern  too 
much,  perhaps,  of  that  "  sin,  by  which  fell  the  angels." 

But  we  must  not  forget  the  trying  character  of  those  times.  The 
tides  of  party  violence  ran  high.  Besides  that  great  strife  which  agi- 
tated the  whole  country,  and  shook  the  Union  to  its  centre,  New  York, 
herself  "  imperium  in  imperio,"  was  never  without  some  fierce  struggle 
of  her  own.  Like  Jupiter  with  his  moons,  she  formed  an  entire, 
though  subordinate  planetary  system,  and  her  intestine  perturbations 
were  neither  few  nor  small.  To  the  political  pilots  of  those  stormy 
years  let  us  forgive  something,  if  their  barks  occasionally  drifted  with 
the  currents  which  they  undertook  to  stem. 

Clinton's  hostility  as  a  politician,  however  severe,  was  not  per- 
sonal. To  this  point  we  have  the  testimony  of  one  of  his  most  illus- 
trious antagonists.  When  the  news  of  his  decease  reached  Washing- 
ton, the  New  York  delegation  in  Congress  held  a  meeting,  to  express 
their  sense  of  the  public  loss.  Mr.  Van  Buren,  then  of  the  senate,  of- 
fered the  resolutions,  and  paid  the  following  tribute  to  his  worth — a 
tribute  which  must  have  been  as  affecting  as  it  is  just  and  beautiful. 

"  I  can,"  said  Mr.  V.  B.,  "  say  nothing  of  the  deceased  that  is  not 
familiar  to  you  all.    To  all  he  was  personally  known,  and  to  many  of 


DE  WITT  CLINTON. 


07 


us,  intimately  and  familiarly  from  our  earliest  infancy.  The  high  order 
of  his  talents,  the  untiring  zeal  and  great  success  with  which  those 
talents  have,  through  a  series  of  years,  been  devoted  to  the  prosecution 
of  plans  of  great  public  utility,  are  also  known  to  you  all,  and  by  all,  I 
am  satisfied,  duly  appreciated.  The  subject  can  derive  no  additional 
interest  or  importance  from  any  eulogy  of  mine.  All  other  considera- 
tions out  of  view,  the  single  fact  that  the  greatest  public  improvement 
of  the  age  in  which  we  live,  was  commenced  under  the  guidance  of  his 
counsels,  and  splendidly  accomplished  under  his  immediate  auspices,  is 
of  itself  sufficient  to  fill  the  ambition  of  any  man,  and  to  give  glory  to 
any  name.  But,  as  has  been  justly  said,  his  life,  and  character,  and 
conduct  have  become  the  property  of  the  historian ;  and  there  is  no 
reason  to  doubt  that  history  will  do  him  justice.  The  triumph  of  his 
talents  and  patriotism,  cannot  fail  to  become  monuments  of  high  and 
enduring  fame.  We  cannot,  indeed,  but  remember,  that  in  our  public 
career,  collisions  of  opinion  and  action,  at  once  extensive,  earnest,  and 
enduring,  have  arisen  between  the  deceased  and  many  of  us.  For 
myself,  sir,  it  gives  me  a  deep-felt  though  melancholy  satisfaction  to 
know,  and  more  so,  to  be  conscious,  that  the  deceased  also  felt  and 
acknowledged,  that  our  political  differences  had  been  wholly  free  from 
that  most  venomous  and  corroding  of  all  poisons,  personal  hatred. 

"  But  in  other  respects,  it  is  now  immaterial  what  was  the  character 
of  those  collisions.  They  have  been  turned  to  nothing,  and  less  than 
nothing,  by  the  event  we  deplore ;  and  I  doubt  not  that  we  shall,  with 
one  voice  and  one  heart,  yield  to  his  memory  the  well-deserved  tribute 
of  our,  respect  for  his  name,  and  our  warmest  gratitude  for  his  great  and 
signal  services.  For  myself,  sir,  so  strong,  so  sincere,  and  so  engrossing 
is  that  feeling,  that  I,  who,  while  he  lived,  never,  no,  never  envied  him 


38 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


any  thing,  now  that  he  is  fallen,  am  greatly  tempted  to  envy  him  his 
grave,  with  its  honors." 

But  there  is  other  and  better  extenuation  for  the  errors  into  which 
the  heat  of  political  conflict  sometimes  hurried  this  great  man.  Though 
a  partisan  of  the  warmest  temperament,  his  devotion  to  party  objects 
was  never  selfish.  Whatever  else  may  be  said,  he  was  not  of  that  class 
of  narrow  men, 

"  Who  to  party  give  up  what  was  meant  for  mankind." 

To  his  praise  be  it  remembered,  that  personal  aggrandizement  was 
not  the  ruling  motive  of  his  life.  Though  his  official  position  gave  him 
multiplied  opportunities  to  enrich  himself  and  his  family,  he  resolutely 
scorned  them  all,  and  died  as  he  lived,  a  rare  example  of  Aristidean 
virtue.  He  contended  earnestly  for  power,  but  it  was  the  power  to  do 
good.  He  was  ambitious,  but  it  was  ambition  in  its  brightest  phase, 
and  scarcely  can  we  find  it  in  our  hearts  to  chide  the  aspiring  vice, 
which  was  so  noble  in  purpose,  and  so  beneficent  in  act. 

Envy  has  sometimes  denied  the  paramount  merit  of  Clinton  in  the 
great  enterprise  of  the  Erie  Canal.  But  the  question  is  not,  whether 
he  first  made  the  suggestion  of  a  navigable  communication  between  the 
lakes  and  the  Hudson.  It  is  a  fact  of  historic  certainty,  that  the  adop- 
tion, the  prosecution,  and  the  accomplishment  of  that  gigantic  under- 
taking, were  owing  mainly  to  his  convincing  statements,  his  vast 
influence,  and  indomitable  perseverance.  What  other  man  was  there 
then,  or  has  there  been  since,  who  would  have  accomplished  the  same? 
Who,  that  has  watched  the  course  of  events  in  New  York,  and  the 
fluctuations  of  party  legislation  on  this  very  subject,  the  canal, — but 
may  well  question,  whether,  without  the  agency  just  named,  it  would 


A 


DE  WITT  CLINTON. 


39 


to  this  day  have  been  begun  ?  To  Clinton,  then,  as  an  honored  instru- 
ment in  higher  hands,  be  the  praise  awarded !  Citizens  of  this  impe- 
rial state,  whose  numerical  power  the  canal  has  doubled,  and  whose 
wealth  it  has  augmented  in  a  ratio  that  defies  estimation,  cherish  and 
perpetuate  his  name !  You  enjoy  the  rich  fruits  which  his  foresight 
anticipated,  and  his  toils  secured.  Let  him  rest  no  longer  in  an  undis- 
tinguished grave.  True,  a  name  like  Clinton's  cannot  die !  It  is 
written  on  that  long,  deep  line  with  which  he  channelled  the  broad 
bosom  of  his  native  state ; — it  is  heard  at  every  watery  stair,  as  the 
floating  burden  sinks  or  rises  with  the  gushing  stream ; — it  is  borne  on 
each  of  the  thousand  boats  that  make  the  long,  inland  voyage ; — and  it 
shines,  entwined  with  Fulton's,  on  all  the  steam-towed  fleets  of  barges, 
which  sweep  in  almost  continuous  train,  the  surface  of  the  Hudson. 
But  these  are  the  traces  of  his  own  hand.  It  is  your  duty  and  privi- 
lege to  record  it  too.  Engrave  it,  then,  in  ever-during  stone.  Embody 
your  sense  of  his  merits  in  the  massive  pile.  From  the  loftiest  height 
of  beautiful  Green- Wood  let  the  structure  rise,  a  beacon  at  once  to  the 
city  and  the  sea.  Severe  in  beauty,  and  grand  in  proportions,  it  should 
be  emblematical  of  the  man  and  of  his  works.  Such  a  monument  will 
be  a  perpetual  remembrancer  of  Clinton's  name,  and  of  his  inapprecia- 
ble services  ;  and  will  stand  for  ages,  the  fit  expression  of  your  gratitude 
and  of  his  glory. 


J 


FERN-HILL. 


"And  those  who  come  because  they  loved 

The  mouldering  frame  that  lies  below, 
Shall  find  their  anguish  half  removed, 

While  that  sweet  spot  shall  sooth  their  wo. 
The  notes  of  happy  birds  alone 

Shall  there  disturb  the  silent  air, 
And  when  the  cheerful  sun  goes  down, 

His  beams  shall  linger  longest  there." 

The  monument  on  Fern-Hill  is  an  obelisk  of  unique  character. 
The  outline  diminishes  from  the  base  upward,  in  successive  stages  of 
slight  curvation,  and  the  figure  furnishes  an  agreeable  variety  in  this 
very  popular  class  of  sepulchral  decorations.  The  stone  is  a  hard  and 
very  dark  sienitic  or  trap  rock  from  Staten  Island ;  it  is  polished 
throughout, — and  its  entire  aspect  is  impressive  and  becoming.  The 
workmanship  of  this  structure  is  admirable.  As  in  the  old  Athenian 
masonry,  the  separate  stones  are  so  nicely  adjusted,  that  they  require 
no  intervening  cement.  This  obelisk  occupies  the  centre  of  a  large, 
circular  lot,  and  its  position  is  commanding  and  beautiful. 


MONUMENTS. 


"  Why  call  we,  then,  the  square-built  monument, 
The  upright  column,  and  the  low-laid  slab, 
Tokens  of  death,  memorials  of  decay? 
Stand  in  this  solemn,  still  assembly,  man, 
And  learn  thy  proper  nature  ;  for  thou  seest 
In  these  shaped  stones  and  letter'd  tables,  figures 
Of  life ; 

— types  are  these 

Of  thine  eternity." 

The  establishment  of  rural  cemeteries  has  awakened,  by  natural 
consequence,  a  livelier  interest  in  the  whole  subject  of  sepulchral  mon- 
uments. The  feeling  which  prompts  the  erection  of  some  memorial 
over  the  ashes  of  a  friend,  is  undoubtedly  a  dictate  of  our  common 
humanity.  A  great  philosophic  poet  ascribes  the  custom  to  that  con- 
sciousness of  immortality,  which  he  believes  to  be  universal,  and  which 
is  but  aided  and  confirmed  by  the  teachings  of  religion.  Whatever 
the  cause,  its  observance  has  marked  ^very  race  and  age  in  man's 
whole  history,  and  appears  not  less  in  the  "  frail  memorial,"  than  in  the 
gorgeous  mausoleum  ;  in  the  simple  Indian  mound,  than  in  the  "  star-y- 
pointing  pyramid."  The  supposed  necessities  of  city  life,  or  its  poor 
and  heartless  conventionalities,  alone  have  been  able  to  check  or  divert 
for  a  time  the  expression  of  this  spontaneous  sentiment.  But  these 
interments  in  towns  must  be  discontinued  ;  and  the  expectation  is  not 
preposterous,  that  the  crowded  charnel-houses  which  have  so  long  re- 


MONUMENTS. 


43 


ceived  the  dead  to  loathsome  crypts,  and  nameless  oblivion,  will  soon 
be  closed  forever. 

Well,  then,  may  the  introduction  of  the  rural  cemetery  be  hailed  as 
the  revival  of  a  better  taste,  and  the  return  to  more  healthy  usages.  It 
is  something — it  is  much — to  have  transferred  the  resting-place  of  the 
departed  from  the  blank  and  grim  enclosures,  the  thoughtless  and  fierce 
turmoil  of  the  city,  to  some  retired  and  beautiful  spot, — even  though 
many  continue  to  cling  to  their  old  associations,  and,  notwithstanding 
the  necessity  has  ceased,  still  retain  the  tomb.  "  Dust  thou  art,  and 
unto  dust  shalt  thou  return."  How  shall  this  inevitable  condition  be 
fulfilled  most  completely  and  naturally, — with  the  highest  degree  of 
safety  to  the  living,  and  of  security  from  desecration,  to  the  dead  ?  The 
question,  however  various  may  be  the  practice,  admits,  it  is  believed,  of 
but  one  answer.  That  answer  is,  by  single  interments  in  the  free  soil. 
Nature,  reason,  experience,  utter  the  response,  and  taste  reiterates  and 
confirms  it.  To  this  conviction  the  public  mind  seems  to  be  gradually, 
but  surely  coming.  With  the  progress  of  this  change,  we  witness  an 
increasing  attention  to  commemorative  memorials,  and  evident  im- 
provement in  their  forms  and  modes  of  erection.  Such  improvement 
was  greatly  needed.  Bear  witness  a  thousand  grave-yards,  but  too 
emblematic  of  decay  and  dissolution  !  Witness  ten  thousand  tablets, 
once  bearing  the  names  and  virtues  of  the  lamented  dead,  and  fondly 
reared  to  their  "  memory,"  now  mossy,  mouldering,  inclined,  or  pros- 
trate, puzzling  the  groping  visiter,  and  sometimes  baffling  even  antiqua- 
rian patience  !  Witness  especially,  those  heaps  unsightly  of  brick  and 
mortar,  formerly  veneered  with  costly  marble,  now  half  denuded,  or 
entirely  fallen,  with  their  recorded  "  hie  jacet"  doubly  true.  It  is  al- 
most impossible  to  find  a  monument  composed  of  several  pieces  united 


44 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


by  masonry,  which  has  stood  twenty  years,  without  more  or  less  of 
dilapidation  and  displacement.  This  evil  has  been  too  palpable  not 
to  be  widely  felt,  and  the  wonder  is,  that  spectacles  so  discreditable 
should  have  been  endured  so  long. 

Of  the  beautiful  cemeteries  lately  formed  among  us,  we  hope  better 
things.  That  the  hope  be  not  delusive,  will  require  untiring  vigilance 
on  the  part  of  those  who  conduct  these  establishments,  and  the  use  of 
every  precaution,  by  those  who  occupy  the  grounds.  In  the  compara- 
tively modern  Pere  la  Chaise,  this  evil  has  already  become  great,  and 
even  in  some  of  the  still  more  recent  English  cemeteries,  is  beginning 
to  be  matter  of  complaint.  Climate,  the  main  source  of  the  difficulty, 
is  probably  not  more  favorable  here  than  it  is  in  France  and  England. 
We  are  subject  to  the  extremes  of  heat  and  cold,  of  moisture  and  dry- 
ness ;  to  intense  frosts  and  sudden  thaws.  No  material  that  can  be 
used  for  monuments,  has  yet  been  found  perfectly  proof  against  these 
potent  influences.  But  although  there  is  not  one,  perhaps,  of  the 
stones  in  architectural  use,  which,  exposed  to  the  weather,  is  wholly 
invulnerable,  it  is  certain  that  they  differ  widely  in  respect  of  durabil- 
ity. Ignorance  or  disregard  of  this  fact  has  led  to  much  of  the  decay 
and  unsightliness  which  have  so  long  characterized  our  places  of  sep- 
ulture.   This  is  not,  however,  the  only  cause. 

The  whole  subject  of  monumental  erections,  as  a  question  both  of 
taste  and  durability,  must  interest  not  only  those  who  contemplate 
making  such  improvements  in  Green -Wood,  but  all  who  would  pre- 
serve from  deformities  and  desolation,  a  scene  of  unrivalled,  and,  as 
yet,  undisfigured  beauty. 

Regarded  as  an  affair  of  taste,  the  subject  is  one  of  some  delicacy, 
and  we  venture  upon  it  with  becoming  deference.    We  do  not  forget 


MONUMENTS. 


41 


the  right  of  each  individual  to  have  his  own  way  in  such  matters,  nor 
those  maxims  of  universal  currency,  which  rest  upon  the  assumption, 
that  in  all  this  wide  province  there  are  no  fundamental  principles.  We 
set  up  no  invariable  standard,  nor  would  we,  if  in  our  power,  enforce 
uniformity, — variety  being  essential  to  pleasing  effect.  But  we  have, 
notwithstanding,  an  unalterable  conviction  that  all  considerations  of 
this  sort  rest  upon  certain  laws  of  fitness  and  propriety,  which  cannot 
be  violated,  without  a  shock  to  every  mind  of  just  perceptions,  and 
powers  rightly  cultivated.  If  it  be  a  question  of  form  only,  the  lines 
of  beauty  and  deformity  are  not  so  easily  decided.  Yet  even  here 
there  is  less  of  latitude  than  is  often  supposed.  There  is  a  voice — the 
generally  harmonious  voice  of  cultivated  taste.  It  has  the  sanction  of 
numbers  and  of  ages,  and  may  not  lightly  be  disregarded. 

The  simplest,  cheapest  form  of  sepulchral  memorial,  is  the  common 
head-stone.  This,  in  its  usual  character  of  a  thin  tabular  slab,  merely 
inserted  in  the  earth,  is  not  allowed  in  Green -Wood,  for  the  sufficient 
reason,  that  it  cannot  be  made  to  retain  an  erect  position.  Particular 
graves  are  sometimes  marked  by  tablets  placed  horizontally,  and  some- 
times by  thick  stones  at  the  ends,  rising  but  a  little  from  the  surface. 
But  the  head-stone  proper  is  not  excluded.  To  give  the  required  du- 
rability, it  needs  only  be  made  sufficiently  thick  to  rest  firmly  upon  a 
well-supported  base.  This  class  of  monuments  is  susceptible  of  many 
pleasing  forms,  and  being  modest  and  unexpensive,  will  be  likely  to  suit 
the  taste  and  means  of  not  a  few. 

Of  the  more  elaborate  structures  it  will  not  be  possible  to  treat  in  much 
detail.  A  few  suggestions,  of  a  general  nature,  will  alone  be  attempted. 
In  most  of  our  rural  cemeteries,  the  popular  taste,  ever  prone  to  a  ser- 
vile imitation,  has  shown  a  strong  predilection  for  pyramidic  forms. 


46 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


The  chief  objection  is  to  the  multiplication  of  one  thing,  producing, 
as  it  must,  a  wearisome  sameness.  We  have  seen  a  ground  so  full  of 
pyramids  and  obelisks,  that  one  could  almost  fancy  it  a  gigantic  cabinet 
of  minerals,  being  all  crystals  set  on  end.  But  there  are  other  consid- 
erations which  should  weigh  in  this  matter.  The  great  pyramid  of 
Gizeh  excites  emotions  of  grandeur  by  its  vast  height  and  bulk.  Re- 
duce it  to  a  model  six  feet  high :  the  sublimity  is  gone,  and  there  is  no 
special  beauty  in  the  object  to  compensate  for  the  loss.  Those  vast 
monolithal,  acicular  pyramids  called  obelisks,  their  summits  piercing  the 
skies,  and  their  adamantine  surfaces  embossed  with-  hieroglyphics, 
attract  our  gaze  as  marvels  of  patience  and  power.  But  what  partic- 
ular atoning  charm  have  our  petty  and  unsuccessful  imitations  of  them, 
that  they  should  usurp  and  fill  so  much  space  1 

These  remarks,  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add,  urge  not  the  exclu- 
sion of  this  class  of  monuments,  but  only  a  more  sparing  and  sensible 
use  of  them.  Set  here  and  there  among  other  diversified  and  grace- 
ful forms,  these  geometric  solids  might  produce  a  happy  effect.  The 
dark  conical  fir-tree,  judiciously  planted  amid  masses  of  irregular  and 
bright  foliage,  shows  well  in  contrast,  and  pleases  every  eye.  But  who 
would  fancy  a  park  of  firs  1 

Those  whose  hearts  are  set  on  pyramids  and  obelisks,  will  of  course 
gratify  that  taste.  While  so  doing,  it  may  be  well  to  remember,  that 
in  their  angular  measures,  and  in  the  relative  dimensions  of  the  mono- 
lith and  pedestal,  these  seemingly  monotonous  structures  differ  very 
considerably, — often  betraying,  by  their  clumsiness,  the  bungling  igno- 
rance of  those  who  designed  them.  In  shape  and  proportions  they 
should  assuredly  be  consonant  with  the  best  forms  of  ancient  art,  unless 
indeed  modern  genius  can  improve  upon  those. 


MONUMENTS. 


47 


!  Among  other  antique  forms  still  used,  the  sarcophagus  and  column 
are  prominent.  These  are  more  susceptible  of  variety,  and  to  lines  of 
higher  beauty,  add  the  charm  of  classic  associations.  To  the  former 
of  these,  as  a  monument  for  the  open  air,  it  may  perhaps  be  objected, 
that  as  commonlly  placed,  it  is  too  low  for  impressive  effect.  Properly 
elevated  on  a  massive  base,  it  could  scarcely  fail  to  be  imposing.  To 
the  simple  pillar,  likewise,  as  we  usually  see  it,  a  similar  objection 
holds.  It  is  too  slender ;  it  lacks  dignity  ;  it  does  not  fill  the  eye.  To 
give  it  an  effective  diameter,  would  require  a  height  which  might  be 
inconvenient  or  too  expensive.  The  short  rectangular  pillar,  or  elon- 
gated pedestal,  with  regular  base,  die,  and  cornice,  and  supporting  an 
urn,  or  some  similar  ornament,  is  a  much  more  substantial  object. 
This  has  been  long  in  use  among  us,  and  seems  to  have  been  often 
resorted  to,  when  it  was  proposed  to  have  something  particularly  grand 
in  the  sepulchral  line.  Being  executed  generally  in  the  style  of  mantel- 
work,  the  lines  are  for  the  most  part  rectilinear,  meager  in  detail,  and 
homely  in  expression.  These  monuments,  with  their  brick  cores  and 
marble  skins,  are  rapidly  disappearing.  Peace  to  their  ruins  !  Let  no 
presumptuous  mortal  attempt  to  reconstruct  them  ! 

But  this  kind  of  structure  becomes  a  very  different  affair,  when 
reared  of  solid  material,  and  of  stone,  which  yields  to  the  chisel,  and 
can  defy  the  elements.  Several  monuments  of  this  class,  both  square 
and  tripodal,  have  been  put  up  in  Green- Wood,  and  have  done  much 
toward  giving  the  improvements  there  a  character  for  originality  and 
beauty, — evincing,  as  they  do,  great  capability,  in  the  way  of  variety, 
of  dignity,  and  of  grace. 

Numerous  declivities  in  the  grounds  greatly  facilitate  the  excavation 
and  the  use  of  tombs,  and  by  consequence,  render  their  fronts  con- 


48 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


spicuous.  A  cursory  observation  of  the  different  entrances,  is  sufficient 
to  show  that  there  is,  even  in  these  humble  facades,  considerable  scope 
as  well  as  call  for  architectural  skill.  The  conditions  which  we  would 
see  fulfilled,  and  which  are  actually  attained  here  in  many  instances,  are 
an  appearance  of  perfect  security  and  strength, — symmetrical  propor- 
tions,— and  that  air  of  quiet  solemnity,  which  becomes  the  entrance  to 
a  house  of  the  dead. 

The  subject  of  monuments  and  devices  strictly  symbolical,  opens  a 
field  for  consideration,  wider  than  we  can  now  explore.  Within  the 
whole  range  of  mortuary  memorials,  there  is  probably  nothing  which 
gives  so  complete  satisfaction,  as  this  embodiment  of  thought  in  marble 
speech,  when  it  is  felicitously  conceived,  and  properly  executed. 
Sculpture  has  won  her  greenest  and  most  enduring  crown,  when,  with 
mute  eloquence,  she  tells  the  story  of  faith  triumphant  over  mortal 
anguish, — and,  with  immortality  written  on  her  beaming  brow,  stands 
pointing  heavenward.  But  in  proportion  to  the  greatness  and  gladness 
of  that  success  which  rewards  the  high  endeavor,  are  the  disappoint- 
ment and  disgrace  which  tread  on  the  heels  of  failure.  The  eye  of 
taste  and  the  heart  of  sensibility  are  shocked  by  attempts,  which  con- 
vert into  objects  of  ridicule  and  contempt,  what  ought  only  to  sol- 
emnize and  elevate  the  mind.  In  reference,  then,  to  all  original 
conceptions  of  a  symbolic  nature,  the  path  of  prudence  seems  plain. 
He  who  meditates  a  work  of  this  description,  ought  surely  to  consider 
well  before  he  decides,  lest  peradventure  he  record  some  expensive 
folly,  in  a  material  whose  durability  would  then  be  its  greatest  misfor- 
tune. Such  a  work  should  bring  into  requisition  the  choicest  talent 
and  the  highest  skill.  Genius  and  piety  should  furnish  the  design,  and 
judgment  and  taste  should  superintend  the  task. 


MONUMENTS. 


49 


For  those  who,  in  such  matters,  are  content  to  copy  the  notions  or 
works  of  others,  the  course  is  easier  and  safer.  The  public  voice, — 
the  voice,  perhaps,  of  centuries, — may  be  considered  as  having  passed 
sentence  of  approval  on  the  forms  which  have  been  so  often  repeated 
or  imitated.  And  yet  how  many  even  of  these  significant  representa- 
tions, fail  to  meet  the  demands  of  a  chastened  taste,  or  lack  the  sanc- 
tion of  reason  and  scripture.  Angelic  forms,  for  instance,  have  been 
favorite  subjects  of  monumental  sculpture.  It  could,  indeed,  hardly  be 
otherwise.  Our  earliest  and  most  cherished  associations  have  accus- 
tomed us  to  blend  some  image  of  cherub  or  seraph,  with  every  thought 
of  the  spiritual  world.  Sacred  verse,  from  the  nursery  rhyme  to  the 
lofty  epic,  has  made  these  winged  messengers  of  heaven  seem  almost 
familiar  to  our  senses.  The  Bible  itself,  through  its  whole  course, 
from  the  sad,  primeval  hour,  when 

"  all  in  bright  array, 
The  cherubim  descended," 

to  close  and  guard  the  gate  of  Paradise,  to  that  night  of  gladness,  in 
which 

"  svvorded  seraphim" 
Were  "  seen  in  glittering  ranks,  with  wings  display'd, 
Harping  in  loud  and  solemn  quire, 

With  unexpressive  notes,  to  heaven's  new-born  heir  ;" — 

is  one  continuous  record  of  angelic  visitations.  In  no  way,  perhaps, 
have  the  painter  and  sculptor  more  fully  exhibited  the  power  of  genius 
and  art,  than  in  those  happy  efforts  by  which  they  have  given  to  the 
eye  these  shapes  of  transcendent  beauty  and  goodness.  But  such  are 
the  exceptions.  Too  often,  these  attempted  personifications  in  stone, 
or  on  the  canvass,  do  not  even  approach  the  bright  conceptions  with 

13 


50 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


which  poetry  and  inspiration  have  filled  our  imaginations.  When  the 
subject  is  thus  elevated,  nothing  short  of  the  highest  attainment  can 
satisfy  our  expectations  ;  and  with  painful  disappointment  we  turn 
away  from  the  grotesque  expression  or  incongruous  attitude. 

"  Though  sculptors,  with  mistaken  art, 
Place  weeping  angels  round  the  tomh, 
Yet  when  the  great  and  good  depart, 
These  shout  to  bear  their  conquerors  home. 

"  Glad  they  survey  their  labors  o'er, 
And  hail  them  to  their  native  skies ; 
Attend  their  passage  to  the  shore, 
And  with  their  mounting  spirits  rise. 

"  If,  then,  the  wounded  marble  bear 
Celestial  forms  to  grace  the  urn, 
Let  triumph  in  their  eyes  appear, 
Nor  dare  to  make  an  angel  mourn." 

Of  these  imitations,  the  emblems  most  used  are  of  Greek  or  Egyptian 
origin.  To  the  dignity  of  age,  some  of  them  add  that  beauty  of  device 
and  form,  which  Grecian  genius  could  so  well  impart.  No  one  can 
doubt  that  in  their  own  time  and  place,  these  symbols  were  natural 
and  appropriate,  as  well  as  beautiful.  But  are  they  so  still  1  Seen 
among  the  cypresses  of  an  Ionian  cemetery,  or  over  the  ashes  of  some 
beloved  and  lamented  Athenian  youth,  the  fragmentary  column,  or  the 
torch  reversed  and  going  out  in  darkness,  was  a  fit  expression  of  the 
popular  belief,  and  truly  symbolized  a  sorrow  in  which  hope  had 
neither  lot  nor  part.  To  the  mourners  of  pagan  antiquity,  death  was 
extinction.  To  them,  no  voice  from  heaven  had  spoken.  For  them, 
no  page  of  revelation  shone.  No  seer  divine  had  taught  them  those 
lessons  of  faith,  which  alone  can  give  to  the  bereaved  and  sorrowing, 


MONUMENTS. 


51 


assurance  of  immortality  and  reunion ;  when  the  broken  pillar  will  be 
more  than  restored,  and  the  extinguished  blaze  shall  be  reluniined, 
never  to  fade  again.  With  some  reason  might  they  plant  upon  the 
tomb,  the  tokens  of  crushed  affections  and  hopeless  grief.  But  when 
a  Christian  weeps  for  departed  loveliness,  or  would  raise  some  memo- 
rial for  one  who  has  died  in  the  faith  and  peace  of  the  gospel,  are 
these  the  emblems  which  he  should  adopt  I  Shall  he  upon  whose  eye 
has  beamed  the  star  that  first  shed  a  radiance  on  the  grave,  and  still 
lights  up  the  once  dark  realms  beyond,  employ  the  same  symbols  with 
the  pagan  and  the  infidel  \  As  a  question  of  religious  consistency — 
of  simple  propriety — of  mere  taste,  even, — has  this  matter  been  suffi- 
ciently considered  ?  We  pretend  not  to  suggest  the  forms  which  should 
either  constitute  or  embellish  the  mementoes  that  rise  for  the  dead  in 
a  Christian  land.  Happily  there  is  no  lack  of  those  which  are  both 
beautiful  and  appropriate.  They  will  readily  be  found  by  such  as 
seek  for  them.  Those  who  will  use  the  gloomy  hieroglyphics  of  some 
perished  creed,  should  at  least  ^lace  near  them  the  cheering  emblems 
of  a  living  faith.  If  Death  be  represented  with  downcast  look  and  in- 
verted flame,  let  Immortality,  as  in  the  fine  group  of  Thorwaldsen, 
stand  by  his  side,  with  torch  high  blazing,  and  eyes  upturned  in  love 
and  rapture. 

A  strong  disposition  has  of  late  been  prevalent,  to  revive,  for  civil, 
monumental,  and  religious  purposes,  the  architecture  of  the  ancient 
world.  When  man  builds  for  his  own  accommodation,  or  for  objects 
purely  civil  and  secular,  the  questions  which  he  is  called  to  settle  are 
those  of  utility  and  beauty  mainly.  But  when  he  rears  a  temple  to 
God,  or  a  memorial  for  the  dead,  there  are  other  considerations  which 
demand  a  hearing.    In  determining  the  style  of  erections  designed  to 


52 


CREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


express  and  to  cherish  emotions  of  tenderness  and  piety,  it  is  not 
wise — it  is  not  safe  to  disregard  those  influences  which  belong  to 
associated  thought,  and  to  time-hallowed  memories.  We  are  creatures 
of  sentiment  and  sympathy.  A  few,  in  their  superior  illumination, 
may  profess  indifference  to  the  power  of  circumstances  so  trivial. 
But  these  are  not  "  the  people."  However  they  may  doubt  or  deny 
the  reality,  the  world  yet  rolls  on,  and  round, — and  causes,  not  the  less 
irresistible  that  they  are  unseen  and  despised,  still  move  the  rising  and 
retiring  tides  of  human  passion. 

It  is  in  disregard  of  such  influences  as  those  above  referred  to,  that 
some  modern  philanthropists  have  thought  it  a  good  speculation,  both 
pecuniary  and  religious,  to  purchase  theatres,  and  convert  them  into 
houses  of  public  worship.  Has  the  experiment  worked  well  1  Not 
so  did  the  early  Christians.  When  Rome  was  converted  from  idolatry 
to  the  religion  of  the  cross,  thousands  of  temples  were  abandoned 
by  their  worshippers.  Here  were  structures  ready  furnished  to  their 
hands.  Did  their  Grecian  symmetry — their  pillars  of  polished  marble 
and  porphyry — their  tesselated  floors — or  their  magnificent  cornices 
and  colonnades — tempt  the  followers  of  Jesus  within  their  walls  ? 
Nay,  they  knew  too  well  the  power  of  old  associations,  to  set  up  a 
pure  and  spiritual  worship,  on  pavements  lately  wet  with  libations  to 
Bacchus  and  Venus, — where  altars  had  smoked  to  Jupiter  and  Mars, 
— and  where  every  familiar  object  must  have  been  redolent  of  error 
and  impurity.  And  is  Christian  architecture  so  poor  and  scanty, — is 
modern  genius  so  sterile,  that  we  must  seek  the  models  of  our  churches 
in  "  superstitious"  Athens,  and  derive  the  forms  of  our  sepulchral 
monuments,  gateways,  and  chapels,  from  calf-adoring  Egypt  1 

An  American  writer,  who  had  noticed  the  strong  predilection  for 


MONUMENTS. 


53 


the  antique  manifested  in  the  oldest  of  our  cemeteries,  has  happily 
expounded  the  principles  of  taste  and  feeling  which  should  prevail  in 
sepulchral  architecture.  We  quote  from  the  North  American  Review 
for  October,  1836  : 

"  It  is  very  doubtful  whether  the  Egyptian  style  is  most  appropriate 
to  a  Christian  burial-place.  It  certainly  has  no  connection  with  our 
religion.  In  its  characteristics  it  is  anterior  to  civilization ;  and  there- 
fore is  not  beautiful  in  itself.  No  one  will  deny  the  superiority  of  the 
Grecian  in  mere  point  of  beauty.  But  more  than  this,  Egyptian 
architecture  reminds  us  of  the  religion  which  called  it  into  being, — the 
most  degraded  and  revolting  paganism  which  ever  existed.  It  is  the 
architecture  of  embalmed  cats  and  deified  crocodiles  :  solid,  stupendous, 
and  time-defying,  we  allow ;  but  associated  in  our  minds  with  all  that 
is  disgusting  and  absurd  in  superstition.  Now,  there  is  certainly  no 
place,  not  even  the  church  itself,  where  it  is  more  desirable  that  our 
religion  should  be  present  to  the  mind,  than  the  cemetery,  which  must 
be  regarded  either  as  the  end  of  all  things, — the  last,  melancholy, 
hopeless  resort  of  perishing  humanity, — the  sad  and  fearful  portion 
of  man,  which  is  to  involve  body  and  soul  alike  in  endless  night;  or, 
on  the  other  hand,  as  the  gateway  to  a  glorious  immortality, — the 
passage  to  a  brighter  world,  whose  splendors  beam  even  upon  the  dark 
chambers  of  the  tomb.  It  is  from  the  very  brink  of  the  grave,  where 
rest  in  eternal  sleep  the  mortal  remains  of  those  whom  we  have  best 
loved,  that  Christianity  speaks  to  us,  in  its  most  triumphant,  soul- 
exalting  words,  of  victory  over  death,  and  a  life  to  come.  Surely, 
then,  all  that  man  places  over  the  tomb  should,  in  a  measure,  speak 
the  same  language.  The  monuments  of  the  burial-ground  should 
remind  us  that  this  is  not  our  final  abode :  they  should,  as  far  as 

14 


54 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


possible,  recall  to  us  the  consolations  and  promises  of  our  reli- 
gion." 

For  the  highest  class  of  monumental  tributes,  we  must  resort  to  the 
studio  of  the  sculptor.  Personal  representations,  whether  real  or  alle- 
gorical, will  ever  maintain  in  the  world  of  art  a  superiority  to  all  other 
forms,  not  unlike  that  which  belongs  to  their  prototypes  in  the  worlds 
of  life  and  thought.  Accordingly,  in  all  ages  and  lands  in  which 
art  has  flourished,  monumental  sculpture  has  abounded.  In  our  busy 
country,  the  era  of  the  fine  arts,  if  in  progress,  has  but  just  begun. 
As  was  to  be  expected,  our  patronage  of  the  brush  and  chisel  thus 
far  has  been  somewhat  characteristic,  if  not  selfish, — amounting  to 
little  more  than  orders  for  portraits  and  busts,  to  adorn  the  domestic 
halls  which  still  rejoice  in  the  presence  of  the  originals.  Nor  is  it 
because  they  could  not  be  had,  that  better  things  have  not  been  more 
generally  sought.  In  the  first  of  these  departments  American  genius 
has  for  years  been  distinguished ;  and  in  the  latter,  it  has  entered  on  a 
career  which  promises  to  be  long  and  brilliant.  To  native  merit  of  so 
high  order,  our  countrymen  cannot  long  remain  insensible  and  unjust. 
With  increasing  wealth  and  leisure, — with  advancing  knowledge  and 
refinement, — with  travel  more  frequent  and  extended,  the  patronage  of 
art  will  undoubtedly  keep  pace.  In  that  coming  and  not  distant  age 
of  Phidian  splendor,  the  dead  will  claim  and  receive  no  inconsiderable 
share  of  the  sculptor's  skill.  Wealth,  refined  by  taste,  and  quickened 
by  the  promptings  of  grief  and  affection,  will  delight  to  preserve  in 
breathing  marble  the  loved  form  which  has  faded  from  earth.  Through 
the  medium  of  this  most  expressive  art,  the  language  of  sorrow  and 
of  hope  may  be  conveyed  to  the  eye  with  happiest  effect ;  and  while 
propriety  in  design  might  thus  go,  hand  in  hand,  with  sensibility  of 


MONUMENTS. 


55 


feeling,  merit  would  reap  a  fostering  reward.  Large  sums  have  not 
unfrequently  been  devoted  to  the  erection  of  huge  Egyptian  monu- 
ments,— to  fanciful  tombs  below  and  above  ground, — or  to  piles  of 
masonry,  which,  beyond  their  expensiveness,  have  little  or  nothing  else 
to  boast  of.  Had  these  ample  means  been  applied  to  secure  works 
of  high  art  from  a  Greenough  or  Power,  a  Crawford  or  Brown,  how 
different  the  result,  both  as  to  present  effect  and  enduring  influence  ! 

For  all  purposes  of  improvement  in  the  arts — of  national  reputation 
— of  patronized  genius,  need  we  say  that  the  former  are  utterly  ineffi- 
cient \  Were  there,  on  the  other  hand,  in  the  grounds  at  Green- 
Wood,  a  single  perfect  statue — but  one  great  master-piece  of  American 
sculpture,  to  be  seen  and  studied  by  the  myriads  who  annually  visit 
the  spot,  can  any  one  estimate  the  elements  of  power  which  would  sit 
enthroned  within  its  fair  proportions  1 — power  to  awaken  or  enhance 
a  sensibility  to  beauty, — power  to  elevate  while  it  refines  the  intellect, 
and  thus  with  reflex  influence  to  aid  in  moulding  the  manners  and  the 
heart.  ? 

But  there  is  one  serious  obstacle  to  the  introduction  of  fine  sepul- 
chral statuary,  which  meets  us  at  the  threshold.  Only  one  material, 
if  we  may  believe  the  concurring  voice  and  practice  of  artists  in  all 
ages,  is  suitable  for  the  highest  efforts  of  the  chisel.  But  to  expose 
under  the  open  sky,  and  to  all  the  rigors  of  our  Scythian  climate,  the 
snowy  marble  on  which  months  or  years  of  labor  have  been  expended, 
seems  to  be  little  less  than  barbarous.  Those  who  have  observed  the 
effects  of  exposure  in  this  country,  upon  even  the  hardest  and  purest 
of  the  Italian  marbles,  need  not  be  told  in  how  short  a  time  weather- 
stains,  and  cracks,  and  exfoliation,  do  their  ruinous  work.  If,  then, 
we  are  ever  to  have  in  our  cemeteries  these  noblest  and  most  beautiful 


56 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


of  all  sepulchral  memorials,  some  safe  and  becoming  shelter  must  be 
provided  for  them. 

The  need  of  a  chapel  in  Green -Wood,  for  the  accommodation  of 
those  who  would  prefer  to  have  some  religious  service  on  the  ground, 
has  been  felt  from  the  first.  Nothing,  it  is  supposed,  but  expenses 
deemed  still  more  exigent,  have  prevented  the  government  of  the  Insti- 
tution from  erecting,  ere  this,  such  a  structure.  Whatever  of  cogency 
there  may  have  been  in  these  reasons,  it  is  respectfully  suggested 
whether  the  chapel  be  not  now  the  first  and  highest  want  of  the 
Cemetery.  When  the  great  number  of  interments  made  in  it  is  con- 
sidered, it  cannot  be  doubted,  that  there  are  many  families,  summoned 
by  these  mournful  errands  to  the  grave,  to  whom  such  a  building 
would  be  a  great  accommodation.  Nowhere,  certainly,  could  the  last 
rites  of  love  and  religion  be  more  decently  paid,  than  in  such  a  place, 
set  apart  for  funereal  purposes ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  the  afflicted 
home  might  be  relieved  from  what  is  too  often  the  intrusive  bustle 
of  a  crowded  funeral.  A  cemetery  chapel  might  also,  we  believe,  be 
greatly  useful,  by  furnishing  a  place  where  the  friends  of  the  deceased 
could,  at  the  appointed  hour,  privately  assemble ;  removing  thus  the 
supposed  necessity  of  providing  a  long  train  of  carriages, — a  custom 
which  involves  much  idle  parade,  and  not  unfrequently  an  oppressive 
expense. 

But  not  to  dwell  on  considerations  which  deserve  a  separate  discus- 
sion, let  us  return  to  the  thought  which  brought  the  chapel  before  us. 
The  idea  of  using  the  structure  proposed  to  be  erected  for  burial 
services,  to  receive,  also,  and  preserve  delicate  statuary  and  reliefs,  was 
suggested  in  an  article  appended  to  a  published  statement  of  the  Comp- 
troller for  1845.    The  considerations  then  suggested  have  lost  none  of 


MONUMENTS. 


57 


their  weight.  Already  may  be  seen  upon  the  ground  sculpture  of  ex- 
quisite delicacy,  seeking,  as  it  were,  the  protection  which  it  cannot  find. 
The  plan  of  a  chapel  for  Green -Wood  should  be  of  a  magnitude  com- 
mensurate with  the  future  prospects  of  this  great  institution.  But  the 
whole  is  not  required  at  first,  and  we  cannot  permit  ourselves  to  doubt, 
that  a  wing  or  portion  of  the  needed  fabric  will  soon  adorn  the  ground. 

Allusion  was  made,  in  the  beginning  of  this  essay,  to  the  perishable 
nature  of  some  of  the  materials  used  for  monuments,  and  to  the 
influence  of  atmospheric  changes  upon  them  all.  This  point  has 
received  less  attention  than  its  importance  merits.  Strength  and  dura- 
bility are  indeed  proverbial  attributes  of  stone ;  but  they  are  possessed, 
by  the  numerous  varieties  in  use,  in  widely-differing  degrees.  In  the 
United  States,  stone  has  not  been  employed  for  architectural  purposes 
either  so  long,  or  in  such  variety,  as  to  furnish  the  means  of  deciding 
the  question  of  comparative  durability,  though  something  may  be 
learned  from  even  our  limited  experience.  In  the  old  world  the  case 
is  different.  There  the  influences  of  time  and  weather  have  been  fully 
tested.  In  the  serene  skies  of  southern  Europe  and  of  western  Asia, 
may  be  seen  many  a  marble  pillar,  over  which  two  thousand  winters 
have  swept,  without  leaving  a  spot  on  their  virgin  purity,  or  dimming 
their  original  polish.  But  how  unlike  to  this  are  the  effects  of  northern 
skies !  A  few  years  since,  an  obelisk  brought  from  Luxor  in  Egypt, 
was  set  up  in  the  French  capital.  The  material  is  a  granite  of  almost 
impracticable  hardness,  and  its  highly-wrought  pictured  surfaces  had 
suffered  no  injury  from  thirty  centuries  of  African  exposure.  Already 
it  has  been  found  necessary  to  cover  its  sides  with  coatings  of  caout- 
chouc, to  preserve  them  from  the  corrosive  influence  of  a  Parisian 
atmosphere.    In  England,  the  defacement  of  many  stone  structures 

15 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


from  dilapidation  gradually  going  on,  has  long  been  a  subject  of 
remark.  A  Report,  which  was  made  to  the  Commissioners  of  Woods 
and  Forests,  on  occasion  of  selecting  the  stone  for  the  new  Houses 
of  Parliament,  gives  minutely  the  history  and  character  of  all  the 
principal  building-stones  of  Great  Britain.  The  results  of  the  inves- 
tigation were  remarkable.  They  show  that  while  some  kinds  of 
sand-stone  and  of  lime-stone — the  materials  chiefly  used  in  that 
country — have  stood  for  seven  or  eight  centuries,  almost  or  quite 
uninjured,  there  are  other  varieties  of  the  same  minerals,  which  show 
signs  of  decay,  after  the  lapse  of  as  many  years.  In  several  ancient 
structures,  where  two  sorts  of  stone  were  used,  one  of  them  has 
crumbled  like  so  much  wood,  while  the  other  continues  in  good 
preservation.  Everywhere  it  was  found  that  the  growth  of  lichens  on 
the  surface  of  the  stone,  however  it  may  disfigure  its  appearance,  is 
favorable  to  its  duration.  The  wide  and  thorough  examination  thus 
made,  ended  in  the  recommendation  of  a  crystalline,  magnesian  lime- 
stone, or  dolomite,  as  having  given,  on  the  whole,  the  best  evidence 
of  enduring  value.  The  use  of  stone,  as  a  building  material,  is  fast 
increasing  in  our  country, — and  the  facts  in  this  Report  are,  so  far 
as  American  quarries  correspond  to  those  of  England,  of  the  highest 
importance. 

In  the  selection  of  a  material  for  sepulchral  purposes,  regard  should 
be  had  both  to  looks  and  durability.  The  adoption  of  a  dark  or 
a  light  tint,  will  naturally  be  determined  in  part  by  the  style  and 
position  of  the  monument — in  part  by  the  taste  of  the  proprietor. 
White,  or  something  which  approaches  to  it,  has  many  admirers. 
When  fresh  it  has  an  air  of  purity  and  brilliance,  and  contrasts  happily 
with  surrounding  verdure.    But,  unfortunately,  under  our  changeful 


MONUMENTS. 


59 


and  weeping  skies,  this  beauty  is  soon  tarnished.  The  fact  will,  un- 
doubtedly, tend  more  and  more  to  diminish  the  use  of  lime-stone  and 
marble,  unless  some  variety  should  hereafter  be  found,  with  powers  of 
resistance  and  endurance  superior  to  any  known  at  present. 

Among  the  harder  and  older  rocks — granite,  sienite,  &c. — there  are, 
doubtless,  varieties  which  will  satisfy  every  reasonable  demand  on  the 
score  of  duration.  These  unyielding  materials  are  entirely  unsuited 
to  structures  distinguished  by  curvilinear  forms,  and  carved  ornaments, 
— and  nothing  can  be  better  adapted  than  they  are  to  those  which 
are  marked  by  rigid  outlines  of  massive  strength  and  time-defying 
solidity. 

But  one  more  stone  requires  a  notice  here.  Of  American  sand- 
stones there  is  a  large  variety,  from  those  which  are  so  coarse  and 
friable  as  to  be  neither  good-looking  nor  lasting,  to  those  which  are 
fine-grained,  compact,  beautiful,  and,  in  all  probability,  enduring  also. 
Of  this  last  description,  is  the  red  sand-stone,  from  New  Jersey,  to 
which  allusion  has  more  than  once  been  made  in  the  preceding  num- 
bers of  this  work.  The  quarry,  which  is  at  Little  Falls,  near  Newark, 
was  first  opened  for  the  erection  of  Trinity  Church,  in  New  York. 
In  that  elaborate  edifice,  which  is  built  wholly  of  this  material,  it  is 
wrought  into  every  possible  form  of  beauty  and  strength.  The  finest 
monuments  and  tomb-facades  in  Green -Wood  are  from  the  same 
source.  It  consists  of  quartz  and  mica  united  firmly  by  an  argillaceous 
cement,  and  slightly  colored  with  oxide  of  iron.  The  fineness  and 
uniformity  of  its  grain,  its  comparative  hardness  and  great  compact- 
ness, justify  the  belief  that  it  will  long  resist  the  disintegrating 
energies  of  our  varying  climate.  Should  this  prove  the  case,  it  will, 
as  a  material  for  monumental  and  architectural  purposes,  combine 


60 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


an  assemblage  of  virtues,  which  belong  to  no  other  stone  that  has  yet 
come  into  use  among  us. 

But  the  finest  of  models,  and  the  choicest  of  materials,  will  avail 
little,  unless  the  foundation  and  erection  be  made  with  care.  The 
monument  should  rest  on  a  bed  of  concrete,  extending  below  the 
action  of  frost  and  the  grave-digger.  Each  stone  should,  if  possible, 
reach  quite  across,  leaving  no  vertical  joints, — and,  if  stratified,  it 
should  invariably  be  laid  so  that  the  planes  of  lamination  shall  be 
horizontal.  The  best  of  waterproof  cement  should  alone  be  used  as. a 
binding  material ;  and  it  is  still  better  to  make  the  contiguous  surfaces 
so  true  as  to  require  only  an  intervening  sheet  of  lead.  With  the 
careful  use  of  such  precautions,  perpendicularity  and  permanence,  for 
a  long  time  to  come,  may  be  safely  guarantied  against  all  the  ordinary 
causes  of  displacement  and  decay. 


\ 


LAWN-GIRT  HILL. 


"  And  sweetly  secure  from  all  pain  they  shall  lie, 
Where  the  dews  gently  fall,  and  still  waters  are  nigh; 
While  the  birds  sing  their  hymns,  amid  air-harps  that  sound 
Through  the  boughs  of  the  forest-trees  whispering  around, 
And  flowers,  bright  as  Eden's,  at  morning  shall  spread, 
And  at  eve  drop  their  leaves  o'er  the  slumberer's  bed !" 

This  beautiful  knoll  occupies  a  position  in  the  Cemetery  ground, 
very  nearly  central.  It  is  a  gentle  eminence  of  oval  shape.  From  its 
wood-crowned  summit  one  looks  out  upon  smooth  lawns  of  sunny 
brightness.  To  the  visiter  approaching  it  from  the  east  by  the  prin- 
cipal avenue,  the  view  cannot  fail  to  be  pleasing.  The  warm  cleared 
grounds  are  hedged  in  by  the  surrounding  copse-wood,  while  here  and 
there  a  vista  invitingly  opens, — and  one,  in  particular,  beautifully  ter- 
minates in  the  waters  of  the  Bay.  A  neat  iron  paling  surrounds  the 
hill,  marking  it  as  the  appropriated  final  home  of  a  large  family. 

16 


THE  TOUR, 


FROM     OCEAN  HILL. 


"  I  now  shall  be  peopled  from  life's  busy  sphere ; 
Ye  may  roam,  but  the  end  of  your  journey  is  here. 
I  shall  call  !   I  shall  call !   and  the  many  will  come 
From  the  heart  of  your  crowds,  to  so  peaceful  a  home ; 
The  great  and  the  good,  and  the  young  and  the  old, 
In  death's  dreamless  slumbers,  my  mansions  will  hold." 

The  plate  presents  one  of  those  views  of  quiet  beauty  which  are 
so  numerous  in  the  grounds  of  this  cemetery.  The  spectator  stands 
among  the  trees  on  the  sharp,  western  side  of  Ocean  Hill.  A  glade 
of  considerable  extent  is  spread  out  before  him.  Its  waving  border  is 
darkly  fringed  with  foliage, — while  its  gentle  declivities  of  various 
inclination  lie  warm  and  bright  in  the  broad  eye  of  day.  The  Tour, 
winding  round  in  serpentine  length  and  slowness,  is  lost  finally  in  the 
distant  copse.  The  whole  character  of  the  landscape  accords  perfectly 
with  the  spirit  of  the  place.  Here  are  rural  beauty  and  repose.  No 
human  dwelling  is  within  view,  if  we  except  the  still  mansions  of  the 
dead.  Neither  sight  nor  sound  is  here  to  remind  us  of  the  noisy,  living 
world.  Not  unfrequently  the  long  funereal  train,  moving  on  with  the 
slow  pace  of  wo,  and  with  phantom-like  stillness,  gives  the  picture  a 
melancholy  but  finishing  touch. 


i 


SYLVAN  CLIFF. 


A  mansion  !  rear'd  with  cost  and  care, 

Of  quaint  device  and  aspect  fair. 

Its  walls  in  rocky  strength  secure, 

Its  massive  portal  fast  and  sure  : 

And,  all  intrusion  to  foreclose, 

Reclining  near  in  grim  repose, 

Two  guards  canine  forever  wait, 

Cerberean  warders  of  the  gate. 

Hold  fast,  ye  stones,  your  treasured  clay, 

Though  wasting  ages  roll  away ; 

Cling  closely  round  the  honor'd  trust, 

Nor  yield  one  particle  of  dust ! 

Yet  ye  shall  hear  a  voice  at  last, 

Quaking  beneath  a  clarion-blast ! 

Your  dead  shall  hear  that  voice  and  rise, 

And  seek,  on  angel-wings,  the  skies ! 

A  monumental  tomb  in  the  early  English  style  of  Gothic  archi- 
tecture. The  material  is  the  New  Jersey  sand-stone,  from  the  quarry 
at  Little  Falls.  Its  roof  rests  upon  an  arch,  and  is  covered  with  stone 
tiles,  cut  and  laid  diamond-wise.  The  front  is  gabled,  and  a  quatre- 
foil  in  relief,  on  the  stone  door,  bears  the  date  of  erection.  The  apex 
of  the  gable  is  enriched  by  a  bold  finial.  At  each  corner  is  a  sup- 
porting buttress, — and  the  sides  are  still  further  sustained  by  walls  that 
keep  up  the  earth. 


(54 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


This  tomb  occupies  a  commanding  position  in  the  Tour,  being  on 
the  high  bluff  over  Sylvan  Lake.  This  is  one  of  the  earliest  tomb- 
fronts,  of  decided  architectural  character,  erected  on  the  grounds.  It 
has  attracted  particular  notice,  as  a  new  style  for  such  erections. 
A  blending  of  strength  with  beauty — an  air  of  solemnity  and  repose 
— pervade  the  structure,  and  render  it  impressive. 


VISTA  HILL. 


"  Yet  not  to  thine  eternal  resting-place, 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone;  nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent." 

Vista  Hill  is  a  gentle  elevation,  situated  on  the  Tour,  in  the  imme- 
diate vicinity  of  Cedar  Grove.  A  portion  of  this  hill  is  enclosed  by 
an  iron  paling,  with  a  handsome  gateway  opening  to  the  east.  The 
spacious  enclosure  is  slightly  elliptical.  This  beautiful  spot  has  been 
secured  and  set  apart  for  burial  purposes,  by  the  Church  of  the  Saviour. 
We  have  already  had  occasion  to  allude  to  this  wise  and  Christian 
appropriation.  Is  it  not  wise  to  bind  more  closely  together,  by  the 
solemn  and  tender  associations  of  the  grave,  those  who  meet  and  wor- 
ship in  the  same  sanctuary  \  And  is  not  that  a  heaven-born  charity, 
which  not  only  remembers  the  poor  while  living,  but,  with  delicate 
regard  to  the  tenderest  feelings  of  our  nature,  provides  for  them  such 
sepulture  I  Praise  to  those  who  designed,  and  who  have  accomplished 
the  work ! 

One  or  two  other  congregations  own  lots  in  Green-Wood,  but  no 
other  one  has  appropriated  and  enclosed  a  tract  for  common  occu- 
pancy. The  Cemetery  still  contains  spots  admirably  adapted  to  such 
a  use.  Will  not  some,  will  not  many  of  the  two  hundred  churches, 
which  are  destined  to  make  Green- Wood  their  place  of  burial,  take 

9 


66 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


care  to  secure  these  choice  positions,  before  they  shall  be  preoccupied 
by  individual  proprietors  ?  That  every  church  should  have  its  own 
lmrying-ground,  is  consonant  as  well  to  natural  fitness  and  religious 
propriety,  as  to  long  experience.  The  dead  may  indeed  no  longer  rest 
under  or  around  the  sacred  walls  which  were  so  dear  to  them  in  life. 
Yet  the  place  of  sepulture  may  be  hallowed  by  solemn  assembly  and 
religious  rite.  As  pastor  and  people — the  young  and  the  old — the  rich 
and  the  poor,  cluster  together  there,  how  precious,  how  holy  will  the 
place  become !  What  more  can  it  need  to  consecrate  and  endear  it, 
than  its  own  simple  charms,  associated,  as  they  will  then  be,  with  so 
many  treasures  of  the  heart, — so  many  tender  memories  and  consola- 
tory hopes  1 

The  enclosure  on  Vista  Hill  was  consecrated  in  the  presence  of  a 
large  assembly,  on  the  18th  September,  1845.  A  mild  autumnal  day 
gave  additional  beauty  and  interest  to  the  scene,  and  to  the  services. 
From  the  address  delivered  on  this  occasion  by  the  pastor,  Rev.  Mr. 
Farley,  wre  have  been  permitted  to  make  the  following  extracts : — 

"  And  I  rejoice  especially  that  it  is  here, — here,  among  these  verdant 
groves,  and  lawns,  and  solemn  shades.  How  surprising  it  seems,  that 
in  some  of  the  older  parts  of  our  country,  among  a  people  by  no 
means  wanting  in  the  warm  and  deep  affections  of  our  nature,  we  can 
find  so  many  instances  where  '  the  bleak  hill-side,'  or  '  bare  common, 
without  shrub  or  tree,'  is  the  spot  selected  as  the  burial-place  of  the 
dead  ! — nay,  more :  where  no  care  is  given  to  replacing  the  falling 
headstones,  or  repairing  the  decaying  tombs,  or  even  the  broken 
fences ! 

"  I  admit  that,  despite  these  apparent  and  sad  intimations  of  neglect, 


VISTA  HILL. 


67 


the  memory  of  the  dead  is  there  cherished  with  as  much  sensibility,  at 
least,  as  ever  prompted  the  erection  of  the  costliest  mausoleum,  or 
planted  and  watched  the  'forget-me-nots'  and  'immortelles,'  as  they 
bloomed  by  the  graves  of  the  departed.  But  affection  is  not  exhausted 
or  weakened,  by  giving  to  it  expression,  nor  the  fount  of  feeling  dried 
up,  by  embodying  its  appropriate  signs ;  and  for  one,  I  confess  to  a 
good  deal  of  reverence  and  tender  regard,  not  only  for  the  memory  of 
the  dead,  but  for  the  perishing  body — the  fleshly  tabernacle  in  which 
the  immortal  spirit  had  sojourned. 

"  In  that,  I  see  the  signet  of  the  great  and  divine  Architect,  as  well 
as  on  that  which  inhabited  it.  It  is  the  dictate  of  nature  to  love  it. 
We  press  i't  to  our  arms  when  living ;  we  seal  it  with  our  kisses  when 
dead.  The  dear  who  are  absent,  come  to  our  imaginations  in  the  hour 
of  revery  and  solitude,  clothed  in  the  material  forms  which  are  so 
familiar ;  and  in  them  are  the  dead  who  have  been  buried,  remembered. 
Nay,  when  we  think  of  them  in  that  higher  home,  to  which  our 
Christian  faith  points  us,  in  those  spiritual  bodies  of  which  the  Apostle 
speaks,  whatever  else  be  our  ideas,  the  same  eye  seems  to  beam  on  us, 
the  same  smile  to  lighten  the  same  features,  the  same  hand  to  beckon 
us  on.  Hence,  we  find  the  remains  of  the  dead  sacred  among  all 
people  ;  the  violation  of  the  grave,  everywhere  regarded  as  sacrilege. 
Hence,  our  complacency  at  seeing  a  portion  of  the  wealth  which  is 
lavished  on  palaces  for  the  living,  appropriated  to  provide  for,  and  fitly 
adorn  the  habitations  of  the  dead.  Honor,  reverence,  affection,  we 
would  say,  then,  to  that  cmious,  wondrous,  beautiful  mechanism  of 
God,  the  body,  when  it  has  fulfilled  its  office  !  Glad  let  us  be  to  lay  it 
in  the  virgin  soil  of  this  fair  spot !  Soft  fall  the  rays  of  the  rising  and 
setting  sun,  as  they  shine  upon  the  green  turf  which  covers  it !  The 


G  KEEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


grateful  shade  of  these  noble  trees,  the  odor  and  beauty  of  sweet 
flowers,  shall  add  their  fragrance  and  loveliness  to  the  place ;  and 
whatever  monument,  or  stone,  or  marble,  may  hereafter  be  raised  here, 
we  will  find  our  plea  for  doing  it,  in  the  natural  and  strong  promptings 
of  the  heart.  But  beyond  this,  there  are  high  moral  uses  to  be  found 
in  the  place  of  graves,  where  that  is  well-selected  and  well-ordered. 
It  is  not  only  grateful  to  the  mourner  in  the  early  freshness  of  grief,  but 
may  be  full  of  blessed  influences  to  all  the  living.  I  am  strongly 
tempted  to  say,  that  whoever  can  come  to  such  a  place  as  this  where 
we  stand,  and  the  entire  Cemetery  to  which  it  belongs,  and  not  be  im- 
pressed, and  impressed  deeply,  by  these  influences,  must  be  largely 
wanting  in  the  common  seriousness  of  our  nature.  I  know  not  the 
place  which  unites  in  its  natural  aspect,  and  in  its  great  capabilities, 
more  fitness  at  once  for  the  main  design  for  which  it  was  chosen,  and 
more  fulness  of  material  for  instructive  and  useful  lessons  to  the  living, 
as  the  dwelling-place  of  the  dead,  than  this  fair  domain.  All  that  is 
needed  to  this  latter  end  is,  that  when  we  come  here,  we  surrender 
ourselves,  in  a  suitable  frame  of  mind,  to  the  spirit  of  the  place.  And 
for  this,  I  do  not  think  it  necessary  that  we  should  enter  it  always  in 
the  funeral  train,  when  the  passing  bell,  solemn  and  touching  as  it  is, 
chimes  out  its  requiem  to  the  departed.  It  is  enough  that  the  place 
is  set  apart  and  secured,  as  far  as  human  contrivance  and  law  can  go, 
for  the  purposes  of  a  Cemetery,  that  is,  as  the  word  imports,  a  sleeping 
or  resting-place  for  the  dead. 

"  In  its  singular  quiet,  presenting  a  striking  contrast  to  the  noise  and 
stir  of  the  great  cities  close  by ;  in  its  easy  access,  yet  secluded  posi- 
tion, almost  washed  by  the  solitary  sea  ;  in  its  diversified  surface  of  hill 
and  dale,  glen  and  plain,  woodland  and  copse,  land  and  water;  in  its 


VISTA  HILL. 


69 


exquisite  natural  beauties,  and  its  large  extent,  it  is  remarkably  fitted  in 
itself  for  these  purposes.  As  year  after  year  passes,  and  more  and 
more  of  the  living  who  have  been  accustomed  to  thread  its  avenues, 
are  gathered  within  its  bosom ;  as  art  and  affection,  from  generation  to 
generation,  shall  combine  to  do  honor  to  the  dead,  rich  and  most  affect- 
ing to  the  soul  rightly  disposed,  will  be  the  associations  which  shall 
cluster  around  it.  And  then  to  pause  amid  its  still  shades  and  think : — 
Here,  indeed,  is  the  place  of  the  dead  !  The  dust  which  the  living 
have  worn,  is  here  mingling  again  with  the  dust.  As  years  come  and 
go,  here  will  be  gathered  more  and  more,  '  the  mighty  congregation  of 
the  dead.'  The  voice  of  spring  will  be  heard  in  the  gentle  breeze,  or 
the  blast  of  winter  will  wail  among  these  then  naked  branches,  with 
every  opening  or  dying  year,  long  after  the  thousands  who  now  throng 
the  streets  of  yonder  cities,  shall  have  gone  to  swell  its  ranks ! 

"  What  a  lesson  is  here  read  to  us,  by  every  little  mound  of  earth 
that  marks  the  bed  of  a  sleeper,  every  monument  that  tells  his  name, 
on  the  folly  and  vanity  of  all  human  designs  !  Could  the  dead  that  lie 
buried  within  these  graves,  now  rise  and  speak  to  us,  how  sobered 
should  we  find  the  tongue  of  frivolity ;  how  careless  of  human  fame 
the  ambitious ;  how  weak  the  passionate ;  how  serious  the  worldling 
and  the  fop ;  how  humble  and  sincere  the  proud  and  the  pretender ! 

"  There  is  another  lesson  to  be  learned  here ;  and  that  relates  to 
what  survives,  and  is  imperishable.  The  monuments  of  departed 
heroes,  in  the  groves  of  the  Academia,  without  the  walls  of  the  City  of 
Minerva,  would  not  permit  Themistocles  to  sleep,  so  did  the  thought 
of  their  great  deeds  fire  his  soul !  How  much  more  should  the  place 
of  the  Christian  dead,  stir  and  wake  us,  as  we  pause  amid  its  shades,  to 
a  holy  emulation  of  their  high  and  more  than  heroic  graces !  What 


70 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


has  passed,  or  is  now  passing  away,  is  daily  of  less  and  less  impor- 
tance,— while  what  remains  is  imperishable. 

"  The  affections  are  immortal.  The  reunion  of  Christian  friends 
after  death,  is  a  truth  sanctioned  by  the  entire  teaching  and  spirit  of  the 
Gospel.  Every  virtue  which  graced  the  character  of  the  departed  ; 
every  pure  wish  and  holy  purpose ;  every  sincere  and  holy  prayer ; 
every  disinterested,  honest,  generous  deed, — all  that  really  endeared 
them  to  our  hearts,  are  now  like  garlands  of  amaranth  upon  their 
tombs,  and  cannot  die.  The  baptism  of  death  has  put  them  beyond 
the  reach  of  temptation  and  sin.  And  when  we  stand  by  the  spot 
where  their  dust  reposes,  we  seem  adjured,  in  tones  that  pierce  the 
soul,  by  motives  too  mighty  to  be  resisted,  to  be  good,  pure,  faithful, 
even  unto  death,  that  when  we  too  come  to  die,  we,  like  them,  may 
rest  from  our  labors,  and  our  good  works  follow  us. 

"Ever  sacred,  then,  be  this  spot  to  the  pious  uses  for  which  it  is  set 
apart !  Ever  precious  in  presence  and  in  memory,  to  the  mourner ! 
Ever  blessed  and  subduing  in  its  influences  and  associations,  to  the 
prosperous  and  the  happy !  May  it  serve,  dearly  beloved,  as  a  new 
bond  to  keep  us  together,  a  united  and  Christian  flock !  Whenever 
our  feet  bend  their  way  hither,  either  to  perform  the  last  offices  of 
Christian  affection  and  piety,  or  to  strengthen  our  spirits  amid  the 
sober  meditations  which  befit  the  place,  and  are  inspired  by  it,  may 
we,  one  and  all,  be  prompted  to  an  increased  fidelity  to  the  church  and 
cause  of  Christ  while  living,  that  we  may  share  with  the  sainted  dead, 
the  heaven  he  promised  ! 

"I  must  be  indulged  a  word  in  reference  to  the  entire  Cemetery 
around  us,  since  already  some  of  you  have  a  special  interest  in  it  be- 
yond this  enclosure,  and  as  I  value  it,  beyond  all  price,  as  another 


VISTA  HILL. 


71 


proof  of  our  advancing  civilization  as  a  people,  and  as  a  most  wisely 
selected  and  beautifully  disposed  burial-place  for  the  dead,  for  our  own 
and  our  sister  city.  It  is  a  word  of  hope,  that  these  lovely  grounds 
may  henceforth,  throughout  their  whole  extent,  wear  only  those  adorn- 
ments which  befit  or  express  the  Christian's  faith.  I  regret  that  any 
heathen  emblems — emblems  rather  of  a  religion  of  doubt  or  despair, 
than  of  one  which  inspires  a  well-grounded  trust,  a  joyous  expectation, 
— should  ever  have  been  blazoned  on  its  monuments  and  headstones.* 
The  inverted  torch,  the  broken  column,  no  more  become  the  cemeteries 
of  a  Christian  people,  than  some  of  the  sad  inscriptions  in  the  famous 
Pere  la  Chaise,  which  travellers  read  there : — '  A  husband  inconsola- 
ble'— '  A  disconsolate  wife' — '  Broken-hearted  parents  :'  the  appropriate 
language  of  hopeless  grief  alone  !  I  would  have  words  full  of  hope, 
and  confiding  faith,  and  cloudless  trust,  and  filial  submission,  and  a 
serene,  cheerful  piety.  I  do  not  so  much  object  to  the  obelisk,  Egyp- 
tian though  it  be,  and  savoring,  as  some  think,  of  an  idolatrous  homage 
of  the  sun ;  because  its  tall  shaft,  with  its  pyramidical  apex,  losing 
itself  in  the  air,  and  pointing  to  the  sky,  may  seem  to  speak  to  the 
living  of  the  heavenly  home  which  their  departed  friends  have  entered. 
But  I  prefer  the  cross,  the  symbol  of  Christ's  victory  over  death  and 
the  grave.  I  prefer  the  words  of  Holy  Scripture,  which  speak  of  '  the 
resurrection  and  the  life.'  So  that,  as  we  wander  here  to  meditate  and 
commune  with  the  righteous  dead,  heaven  itself  shall  seem  nearer — the 

*  I  fear  the  above  remarks  may  be  misconstrued,  or  give  unnecessary  pain  to  some  who  have 
erected  such  monuments  as  are  alluded  to.  Nothing  was  farther  from  my  intention.  As  works 
of  art  only,  do  I  feel  that  they  are  open  to  criticism.  It  is  not  they  who  paid  for  them,  who  are 
censured.  Unhappily  it  is  too  frequently  the  case,  that  he  who  furnishes  the  design,  seeks  only 
to  meet  the  eye  of  the  employer,  and  there  is  too  little  consideration  with  both  parties,  as  to  the 
significance  of  the  emblems  chosen. 


72 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


terrors  of  the  last  hour  be  scattered — the  loved  who  have  been  taken, 
come  back  to  our  remembrance  in  all  their  spiritual  beauty, — and  our 
souls,  chastened  and  sobered,  be  the  better  prepared  for  what  remains 
of  life's  duties,  and  its  last  hour." 

The  Rev.  John  Pierpont  assisted  in  these  exercises;  and  the  fol- 
lowing words  from  his  pen, — to  which  we  are  indebted  for  many 
Christian  lyrics  of  unsurpassed  excellence, — were  sung  by  the  assem- 
bly, and  most  appropriately  closed  the  scene : — 

"0  God!  beneath  this  Green-Wood  shade, — 
Beneath  this  blue,  autumnal  sky, 
Would  we,  by  those  we  love,  be  laid, 
Whene'er  it  is  our  time  to  die. 

"  The  glory  of  this  woodland  scene, — 

These  leaves,  that  came  at  summer's  call, — 
These  leaves,  so  lately  young  and  green, 
Even  now  begin  to  fade  and  fall. 

"  So  shall  we  fade  and  fall  at  length : 

Youth's  blooming  cheek — the  silvery  hair 
Of  reverend  age — and  manhood's  strength, 
Shall  here  repose  ; — Then  hear  our  prayer, 

"  0  Thou,  who  by  thy  Son  hast  said, — 
Erom  fear  of  death  to  set  us  free, — 
'  God  is  the  God,  not  of  the  dead,' 

That  we,  for  aye,  may  live  in  Thee  !" 


OCEAN  HILL. 


"  They  have  not  perished, — no  ! 
Kind  words — remember'd  voices,  once  so  sweet — 

Smiles  radiant  long  ago — 
And  features,  the  great  soul's  apparent  seat, — 

All  shall  come  back  ;  each  tie 
Of  pure  affection  shall  be  knit  again." 

We  have  in  this  view  an  obelisk  of  considerable  height,  and  in 
some  respects  peculiar.  The  shaft  is  surrounded  by  several  narrow 
fillets  slightly  raised,  and  connected  with  other  ornaments.  Just  above 
the  base,  on  the  front  side,  is  a  female  bust  in  high  relief.  A  tablet 
below  records  the  name,  virtues,  and  premature  decease  of  a  young 
wife  and  mother.  The  material  is  brown  stone,  and  the  work  is  finely 
executed. 

Hard  by,  and  just  seen  through  the  foliage,  is  a  laborer's  cottage. 
Two  of  these  structures,  unlike  in  form,  but  both  highly  picturesque, 
already  adorn  the  grounds.  Others  will  from  time  to  time  be  added, 
until,  like  a  cordon  of  sentinels,  they  will  surround  the  Cemetery, 
enhancing  at  the  same  time  its  security  and  its  beauty. 

In  happy  unison  with  the  immediate  scene,  and  with  the  thoughts  it 

naturally  suggests,  mark  through  the  leafy  openings  those  unpretending 

churches  at  Flatbush !    As  seen  from  this  solemn  high-place,  a  sort  of 

Sabbath  stillness  seems  to  rest  on  and  around  them  ;  while  themselves 
10 


71 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


may  be  deemed  fit  emblems  of  the  piety  and  peace  they  were  reared  to 
promote.  Still  farther  to  expand  and  fill  the  soul,  behold  where,  in  the 
dim,  blue  distance,  stretches  far  away  the  mighty  sea, — 

 "  boundless,  endless,  and  sublime — 

The  image  of  Eternity!" 

At  a  short  distance  from  the  spot  which  has  just  passed  under  our 
notice,  lie  the  remains  of  the  Rev.  David  Abeel,  and  a  monument  will 
soon  rise  above  them.  A  brief  commemoratory  notice  in  these  pages, 
of  this  distinguished  missionary  and  most  exemplary  man,  will  not,  it  is 
believed,  be  unacceptable. 

David  Abeel  was  born  in  New  Brunswick,  N.  J.,  A.  D.  1804.  His 
father  served  as  an  officer  in  the  American  navy  during  the  war  of  the 
Revolution.  The  Rev.  Dr.  Abeel,  for  many  years  a  distinguished  cler- 
gyman of  the  Dutch  Collegiate  churches  in  the  city  of  New  York,  was 
his  uncle.  The  subject  of  this  sketch  was  distinguished,  even  in 
youth,  by  unflinching  firmness  of  purpose  and  action.  He  early  be- 
came a  keen  sportsman,  and  found  health  and  strength  in  the  exciting 
toil.  The  medical  profession  was  his  first  choice ;  and  he  had  already 
made  some  progress  in  the  study,  when  new  views  of  life  and  duty  in- 
duced him  to  change  his  contemplated  pursuit,  for  what  he  deemed  a 
higher  sphere  of  benevolent  action.  He  entered  at  once  upon  the 
study  of  divinity,  in  the  Theological  School  of  his  church  at  New 
Brunswick,  and  in  due  time  completed  the  required  course,  with  a 
reputation  for  learning  and  piety,  which  gave  promise  of  high  useful- 
ness. 

He  was  soon  settled  as  pastor  of  the  Dutch  Church,  just  then  formed 
in  Athens,  N.  Y.    Here  he  devoted  himself  so  assiduously  to  his  du- 


OCEAN  HILL. 


7,5 


ties,  that  a  year  had  not  elapsed  before  his  health  gave  way  under  the 
combined  exhaustion  of  excitement  and  fatigue.  To  recruit  his  failing 
powers,  and  still  serve  the  cause  to  which  he  had  consecrated  them,  he 
accepted  a  proposal  to  minister,  during  the  winter,  to  a  church  of  his 
own  persuasion  in  the  island  of  St.  Thonias.  He  returned  to  the 
United  States ;  but  no  entreaties  could  induce  him  again  to  accept  a 
permanent  station  at  home.  The  miserable  degradation  and  spiritual 
wants  of  the  heathen  world  had  filled  his  imagination,  and  more  than 
touched  his  heart.  Especially  had  his  sympathies  long  turned  towards 
that  mighty  empire  on  the  other  side  of  the  globe,  whose  teeming 
provinces  contain  one-third  part  of  the  human  race. 

He  went  first  to  Canton,  in  the  capacity  of  chaplain  to  the  nu- 
merous seamen  who  congregate  at  that  port.  Soon  after  he  became  a 
regular  missionary,  under  appointment  of  the  board  of  commissioners 
for  foreign  missions,  and  was  stationed  at  Bankok,  in  Siam.  An 
enervating  climate,  and  his  own  toilsome  life,  soon  compelled  him  to 
quit  his  post.  After  several  short  voyages  for  his  health,  he  returned 
to  China,  and  settled  at  Macao.  But  his  difficulties  returned.  He 
again  tried  voyaging  in  the  Indian  Archipelago.  But  this  had  ceased 
to  afford  relief ;  and  he  reluctantly  consented  to  set  out  for  home.  He 
returned  by  the  way  of  England.  Though  so  feeble  when  he  sailed, 
as  to  be  conveyed  on  a  couch  to  the  ship,  the  passage  across  the  At- 
lantic proved  highly  beneficial. 

With  improving  health,  his  zeal  and  activity  returned.  He  trav- 
ersed the  land,  a  missionary  apostle,  communicating  to  multitudes  some 
portion  of  his  own  earnest  benevolence.  After  a  year  thus  usefully 
employed,  he  resolved,  in  despite  of  all  remonstrance,  to  return  to 
China.    He  arrived  at  Macao  previous  to  the  commencement  of  hos- 


7(1 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


tilities  on  the  part  of  England.  He  was  there  during  the  continuance 
of  that  extraordinary  war,  and  was  ready,  at  its  close,  to  avail  himself 
of  the  strange  and  new  position  in  which  it  placed  the  affairs  of  China. 
By  a  succession  of  events  equally  rapid  and  unexpected,  he  saw  pros- 
trated to  the  ground,  the  barriers  which  custom  and  prejudice  had  so 
long  maintained  around  that  singular  people.  Whatever  might  be 
thought  of  the  motive  and  principles  which  led  to  this  result,  or  of  the 
means  by  which  it  was  effected,  there  seemed  no  reason  to  doubt  that 
it  would  be  mutually  beneficial  to  China  and  the  world.  To  the 
Christian  philanthropist  especially,  whose  heart  had  long  bled  for  so 
many  millions,  "  perishing  for  lack  of  vision,"  the  event  must  have 
seemed  a  most  auspicious  providence.  To  none  could  the  occurrence 
have  been  more  welcome  than  to  the  devoted  Abeel.  For  years  he 
had  been  laboring  almost  single-handed.  An  exhausting  climate — im- 
paired health — the  acquisition  of  a  difficult  language — and  more  than 
all,  the  proverbial  exclusiveness  of  the  Chinese,  were  obstacles  suffi- 
cient to  cool  aught  but  that  fervid  zeal  and  love,  which  the  Christian's 
faith  can  alone  inspire. 

He  could  now  write  and  speak  the  language.  His  prudence,  his 
conciliatory  address  and  most  exemplary  character,  had  given  him  high 
consideration  with  many  of  the  natives ; — and  now,  at  length,  the 
cannon  of  the  Ocean  Queen  had  been  made  instrumental  in  levelling 
what  seemed  the  last,  great  barrier  to  missionary  enterprise.  He  sta- 
tioned himself  at  Amoy,  with  the  intent  of  entering  in  earnest  on  the 
great  work  for  which  he  had  so  long  been  preparing.  But  it  was  not 
so  to  be.  He,  who  needs  not  our  service,  and  who  often  teaches  man 
a  lesson  of  humility  and  dependence,  as  well  as  of  faith  and  duty,  by 
removing  the  most  efficient  human  instruments,  saw  fit  again  to  reduce 


OCEAN  HILL. 


77 


him  to  extreme  weakness.  Again  he  was  put  on  board  ship,  bound  for 
America,  but  with  no  expectation,  on  the  part  of  his  friends,  that  he 
would  ever  reach  her  shore.    He  did,  however,  survive  the  voyage. 

But  little  more  remains  to  be  told.  With  a  characteristic  energy  of 
will,  which  seemed  to  triumph  over  physical  debility,  he  visited  differ- 
ent and  distant  parts  of  the  United  States.  The  warmest  welcome, 
the  kindest  attentions,  everywhere  awaited  this  meek  and  worn-out 
soldier  of  the  cross.  But  change  of  climate,  travel,  medical  skill,  and 
assiduous  care,  were  alike  powerless  to  arrest  the  progress  of  disease. 
A  nervous  irritability,  more  difficult,  perhaps,  than  even  pain  to  bear, 
was  his  constant  attendant.  Yet  no  disturbance  of  the  material  organ- 
ization ruffled  his  ever  even  temper,  or  marred  the  beauty  of  his 
Christian  graces.  His  last  days  were  spent  at  the  house  of  his  friend, 
Mr.  Van  Rensselaer,  of  Albany ;  and  there,  on  the  6th  September, 
1846,  he  quietly  expired. 

"  Serene,  serene, 
He  press'd  the  crumbling  verge  of  this  terrestrial  scene  ; 
Breathed  soft,  in  childlike  trust, 

The  parting  groan  ; 
Gave  back  to  dust  its  dust — 

To  heaven  its  own." 

It  could  have  been  no  common-place  character,  no  ordinary  virtues 
of  mind  and  heart,  which  won  for  the  subject  of  our  memoir,  an 
esteem  so  general  and  enduring.  Intellectually,  he  was  clear  and  dis- 
criminating, with  great  readiness  and  appropriateness  of  thought. 
Resolute  of  purpose,  and  energetic  in  act,  he  could  accomplish  a  large 
amount  of  labor.  He  was  a  man  of  unvarying  prudence,  and  the  most 
considerate  kindness.  The  sincerity  and  warmth  of  his  good- will, 
written  on  his  face,  imbodied  in  words  of  affectionate  earnestness,  and 


78 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


breathed  in  tones  of  the  gentlest  persuasion,  possessed  a  logic  and 
eloquence  that  seldom  failed  to  reach  the  heart.  He  was  distinguished, 
not  so  much  by  any  one  outshining  quality,  as  by  the  balanced  har- 
mony of  all  his  powers.  His  was  that  excellent  and  rare  gift  of 
Heaven,  good  sense.  All  the  sweet  urbanities  of  life  he  knew  and  prac- 
tised ;  and  the  high  virtues  of  the  Christian  missionary,  certainly  lose 
none  of  their  lustre,  by  being  associated,  as  in  his  case,  with  those  of 
the  gentleman  and  scholar. 

It  must  be  manifest,  that  a  character  and  life  such  as  we  have  de- 
picted, could  have  been  inspired  and  sustained  only  by  a  deep-seated 
and  healthy  piety.  It  was  this  which  nerved  a  sensitive  invalid  to  those 
circumnavigations  of  charity, — which  sustained  him  under  the  depress- 
ing fervors  of  a  tropical  sun, — which  encouraged  him  along  the  toil- 
some task  of  learning  the  language, — and  which,  when  friends,  and 
physicians,  and  fainting  nature  herself,  counselled  retirement  and 
repose,  carried  him  again  and  again  from  the  bed  to  the  field.  And 
what  but  this,  amid  the  disappointment  of  long-cherished  hopes,  and 
wearisome  infirmities  of  the  flesh,  could  impart  that  meek  resignation 
and  cheerful  trust,  which  made  his  last  hours  a  scene  of  perfect  peace  ? 

To  human  view  a  death  like  this  seems,  at  first  thought,  disastrous 
and  premature.  It  is,  however,  only  the  close  of  a  life  which  should 
be  measured  by  its  intensity,  rather  than  duration.    And  if, 

"  To  live  in  hearts  we  leave  behind, 
Is  not  to  die," 

then  Abeel  still  lives ; — lives  in  those  words  of  his  which  yet  survive 
in  memory; — lives  in  his  great  example  of  self-denial  and  love, — in 
the  very  mound  that  swells  above  his  ashes, — and  in  each  memorial 
that  bears  his  name. 


BATTLE  HILL. 


"  Once  this  soft  turf,  this  rivulet's  sands, 
Were  trampled  by  a  hurrying  crowd, 
And  fiery  hearts  and  armed  hands, 
Encounter'd  in  the  battle-cloud. 

"  Ah  !  never  shall  the  land  forget, 

How  gush'd  the  life-blood  of  her  brave, — 
Gush'd,  warm  with  hope  and  courage  yet, 
Upon  the  soil  they  fought  to  save." 

Independently  of  their  present  and  prospective  claims  to  regard, 
Green -Wood  and  its  vicinage  must  ever  possess  a  strong  interest,  de- 
rived from  the  past.  In  that  vicinity, — upon  ground  traversed  in  part 
by  every  visiter  to  the  Cemetery,  and  lying  immediately  below  and 
around  it, — occurred  the  first  serious  conflict  between  the  British  and 
American  troops,  on  the  memorable  26th  of  August,  1776.  There  is 
indeed  reason  to  believe,  that  the  very  spot  presented  in  the  plate,  was 
stained  that  day  with  patriot  blood.  It  seems  strange  that  the  events 
of  that  occasion,  and  the  localities  of  those  events,  have  commanded  so 
littte  attention.  In  general,  our  countrymen  have  shown  any  thing  but 
indifference  to  the  spots  which  were  hallowed  by  the  struggles  and 
blood  of  their  fathers.  There  was  scarcely  a  petty  skirmish  in  New 
England,  which  has  not  had  its  historian.  Every  rood  of  ground  trod 
by  hostile  feet,  has  been  traced  and  identified.    Upon  anniversary  re- 


so 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


turns,  thousands  have  assembled  to  collect  the  scattered  bones  of  the 
glorious  dead, — to  hear  their  eulogy  from  eloquent  lips, — and  to  rear 
some  enduring  monument,  that  shall  transmit  their  names  and  deeds. 
What  battle,  since  that  of  Marathon,  has  ever  concentred  upon  one 
small  spot  of  earth,  an  interest  like  that  which,  for  seventy  years,  has 
clung  round  Bunker  Hill  ?  How  have  the  historian  and  the  novelist, 
the  painter  and  the  architect,  the  poet  and  the  orator,  conspired  to  en- 
hance its  glory  !  How  many  millions  have  visited  the  spot,  to  see 
with  their  own  eyes  that  "sepulchre  of  mighty  dead,"  and  to  press 
with  their  own  feet,  the  sod  which  was  wet  with  Warren's  gore  ! 

In  contrast  with  all  this,  what  a  story  of  neglect  is  that  of  the  battle- 
ground in  Brooklyn !  How  few  of  the  vast  population  in  its  vicinity, 
know  or  care  aught  about  it !  How  very  few  could  even  designate  the 
fields  where  Sullivan  and  Prescott,  until  overpowered  by  an  enemy  in 
their  rear,  fought,  with  their  raw  levies,  the  veterans  of  Europe,  not 
less  bravely  than  did  Prescott  at  Charlestown,  or  Stark  at  Bennington! 

Important  differences,  it  is  true,  distinguish  the  cases.  The  engage- 
ment at  Brooklyn,  like  that  of  Bunker  Hill,  was  a  defeat — but  not,  like 
that,  more  glorious  than  most  victories.  Instead  of  inspiriting  the  de- 
fenders of  freedom,  its  consequences  were  depressing  and  disastrous ; 
and  the  day  was  long  thought  of,  as  one  of  mistakes,  if  not  of  disgrace. 
The  ground  itself  came  at  once  into  the  possession  of  the  British,  and 
so  continued  to  the  end  of  the  war.  The  standard  of  general  intelli- 
gence on  the  island,  was  neither  then,  nor  for  a  good  while  thereafter, 
very  high,  while  that  of  patriotism  was  decidedly  low.  The  popular 
enthusiasm,  so  ardent  elsewhere,  was  here  unfelt,  or  for  so  long  a  time 
repressed,  that  silence  and  indifference  in  regard  to  the  matters  in 
question  became  habitual,  and  have  never  been  disturbed.    Such,  it  is 


BATTLE  HILL. 


SI 


believed,  are  some  of  the  causes  of  a  neglect  which  is  more  easily  ac 
counted  for  than  justified. 

It  is  due  to  the  brave  combatants  of  that  day,  that  their  names  and 
deeds  should  be  remembered  and  commemorated,  in  common  with 
many  others — more  distinguished,  only  because  they  were  more  fortu- 
nate. To  this  end  we  contribute  our  mite.  We  would  induce  some 
of  the  countless  visiters  of  Green-Wood  to  turn  aside,  and  stand  upon 
the  spot  where  their  fathers  once  stood,  "  shoulder  to  shoulder  in  the 
strife  for  their  country."  At  least  we  would  have  them  know,  as  they 
ride  along,  that  the  very  earth  beneath  them  was  reddened  in  the  con- 
flict, which  secured  to  them  their  great  and  fair  inheritance. 

The  unsparing  hand  of  improvement  is  fast  sweeping  away,  not 
only  the  vestiges  of  all  the  old  defences,  but  the  very  hills  on  which 
they  were  raised,  at  such  expense  of  treasure  and  toil.  Even  the  more 
distant  grounds,  beyond  the  lines  of  circumvallation,  upon  which  the 
fight  occurred,  have  in  some  instances  been  materially  changed. 
The  actors  in  those  scenes  are  all  gone.  Of  traditionary  informa- 
tion but  little  can  now  be  gleaned,  and  that  little  will  soon  have 
perished. 

That  the  British  would  make  an  early  and  vigorous  effort  to  obtain 
possession  of  the  waters  and  city  of  New  York,  was  anticipated,  almost 
at  the  commencement  of  the  struggle.  The  difficulty  of  defending  it 
against  a  powerful  army  and  fleet,  which  resulted  from  its  position,  was 
not  diminished  by  the  well-known  disaffection  to  the  revolutionary 
cause,  that  existed  among  the  inhabitants.  But  the  object  was  regarded 
as  of  pre-eminent  importance.  The  magnitude  of  the  city  itself, — its 
convenient  and  accessible  waters, — and  particularly  its  position  of  com- 
mand, at  one  extremity  of  the  great  communicating  line  between  the 


GREEX-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


Atlantic  and  Canada, — were  deemed  reasons  sufficient  for  maintaining 
the  place  at  almost  any  hazard. 

As  early  as  February,  1776,  General  Lee  was  ordered,  with  a  small 
force,  to  New  York,  to  guard  against  apprehended  danger  from  Sir 
Henry  Clinton  and  the  tories.  Defensive  works  were  begun  under  his 
direction,  and  continued  to  be  prosecuted  by  Lord  Stirling  and  others, 
until  the  arrival  of  Washington  in  April.  For  four  months  more,  the 
work  of  fortifying  went  on  under  his  eye,  and  the  most  strenuous 
efforts  were  made  to  provide  a  sufficient  defence  against  the  expected 
attack.  At  the  end  of  June  the  British  fleet  and  army  began  to  arrive, 
and  took  immediate  possession  of  Staten  Island.  By  the  first  of  Au- 
gust, a  powerful  fleet  and  thirty  thousand  men  were  stationed  on  and 
around  it.  It  was  this  strong  naval  and  land  armament  which  the 
American  general  was  expected  to  oppose  and  repel.  The  advantage 
seemed  to  be  greatly  on  the  side  of  the  enemy.  An  army  mostly  of 
militia-men,  who  had  seen  no  service,  and  knew  little  of  discipline, — 
poorly  clothed  and  ill  paid, — with  few  of  the  comforts,  or  even  neces- 
saries of  the  camp, — scantily  provided  with  the  arms  and  munitions 
which  such  a  service  requires,  and  unsupported  by  a  single  war-ship, — 
were  to  make  good  their  ground  against  numbers  greatly  superior, — 
accustomed  to  all  the  duties  of  the  drill  and  the  field, — and  completely 
furnished  with  the  whole  materiel  of  war. 

Being  in  total  uncertainty  as  to  the  point  of  attack,  the  American 
commander  was  compelled  to  scatter  his  forces,  and  to  man  a  great 
extent  of  lines.  In  addition  to  the  defences  on  Governor's  Island,  and 
on  both  sides  of  the  island  of  New  York,  extending  up  the  Hudson  and 
East  rivers  for  many  miles,  it  was  thought  necessary  to  guard  the 
western  shore  of  Long  Island,  where  it  approaches  and  commands  the 


BATTLE  HILL. 


83 


city.  A  series  of  strong  intrenclmients  stretched  from  Red  Hook  quite 
across  to  the  Wallabout.  The  woody  ridge  which  extends  along 
nearly  the  whole  eastern  side  of  Brooklyn,  was  guarded  by  detach- 
ments and  pickets  posted  at  all  the  openings. 

Such  was  the  position  of  affairs  when,  on  the  22d  of  August,  the 
British  commenced  landing  their  troops  at  New  Utrecht,  near  the  spot 
where  Fort  Hamilton  now  stands.  Four  days  afterward,  their  centre, 
composed  of  Plessians,  under  De  Hicster,  was  at  Flatbush ;  the  right 
wing,  commanded  by  Lords  Cornwallis  and  Percy,  extended  towards 
Flatlands ;  while  the  left  wing,  under  General  Grant,  rested  on  the 
coast.  From  the  American  camp  the  British  centre  was  four  miles, 
and  each  of  the  wings  about  six  miles  distant.  Very  early  in  the 
morning  of  the  27th,  two  brigades  under  General  Grant,  advancing, 
partly  along  the  coast-road,  and  partly  by  Martensis'  Lane,  which  now 
forms  the  southern  boundary  of  Green-wood,  drove  back  the  regiment 
stationed  in  that  neighborhood.  Lord  Stirling,  with  two  regiments  of 
southern  troops,  was  dispatched  to  oppose  them.  The  day  broke  as 
he  came  in  sight  of  his  foe,  whose  front,  on  the  Gowanus  road,  was 
then  a  little  in  advance  of  the  present  avenue  to  the  Cemetery.  The 
regiment  under  Col.  Atlee,  which  was  retiring  before  the  advancing 
column,  was  immediately  stationed  on  the  left  of  the  road,  near  the 
point  where  Eighteenth-street  intersects  it.  The  other  two  regiments 
were  planted  farther  to  the  left,  on  the  hill  now  included  between 
Eighteenth  and  Twentieth-streets.  A  company  of  riflemen  was  posted, 
partly  on  the  edge  of  the  wood,  and  partly  along  a  hedge  near  the  foot 
of  the  hill.    Some  relics  of  this  temporary  shelter  may  still  be  seen, — 

"  There,  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place  disclose." 


84 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


Having  made  his  arrangements,  and  while  momently  expecting  the 
attack,  Lord  Stirling  thus  addressed  his  men : — "  The  commander,  sol- 
diers, of  that  advancing  column,  is  Mnjor-general  Grant.  Not  long 
since,  I  heard  him  boast,  in  parliament,  that  with  five  thousand  men, 
he  would  undertake  to  march  from  one  end  of  the  continent  to  the 
other.  He  may  have,"  added  Lord  S.,  "  his  five  thousand  men  with 
him  now.  We  are  not  so  many :  but  I  think  we  are  enough  to  pre- 
vent his  advancing  farther  on  his  march  over  the  continent,  than  yon- 
der mill-pond." 

The  British  having  brought  forward  a  body  of  light  troops,  to  within 
a  hundred  and  fifty  yards,  opened  their  fire,  which  was  returned  with 
spirit.  After  two  hours'  fighting,  the  light  troops  retired  to  the  main 
body.  The  contest  was  continued  by  cannonade  for  several  hours 
longer,  when  the  noise  of  firing  in  their  rear,  warned  the  Americans 
that  an  immediate  retreat  had  become  necessary. 

Unfortunately,  a  pass  on  the  extreme  left  of  the  American  lines,  had 
been  left  without  any  adequate  guard.  Secret  foes,  who  knew  but  too 
well  the  ground,  had  apprized  the  enemy  of  this  advantage.  In  the 
course  of  the  night,  the  British  right  wing,  making  a  detour  through 
New  Lotts,  into  the  road  leading  from  Jamaica  to  Bedford,  was  thus 
enabled  to  throw  itself  between  the  American  detachments  and  their 
camp.  The  troops  thus  assailed  by  a  fire  in  front  and  rear,  mostly 
broke  and  fled.  General  Sullivan,  with  about  400  men,  was  posted  on 
the  heights  immediately  west  of  Flatbush.  Though  attacked  by  over- 
whelming forces  on  both  sides,  he  bravely  maintained  the  conflict  for 
nearly  three  hours,  yielding  himself  a  prisoner  only  when  farther  resist- 
ance had  become  utterly  futile. 

While  this  calamitous  affair  was  going  on  in  the  American  right  and 


BATTLE  HILL. 


85 


centre,  Lord  Cornwallis,  with  a  strong  force,  was  advancing  toward 
Gowanus,  and  had  already  secured  the  causeway  and  bridge  at  the 
Upper  Mills,  when  Lord  Stirling,  in  his  retreat,  came  in  sight.  His 
men  could  get  back  to  the  inner  lines,  only  by  crossing  the  marsh,  and 
fording  or  swimming  the  creek,  at  some  point  below.  To  protect  them 
in  this  difficult  and  dangerous  operation,  Stirling  advanced  against 
Cornwallis  with  400  men — ordering  all  the  rest  to  make  their  escape 
as  best  they  could.  The  conflict  of  this  forlorn  hope  with  the  veteran 
troops  of  Cornwallis,  was  exceedingly  fierce,  and  at  one  time,  all  but 
successful.  But  new  and  overwhelming  reinforcements  of  the  enemy, 
rendered  valor  and  patriotism  alike  unavailing.  The  scene  of  this 
struggle  is  supposed  to  have  been  principally  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  ancient  Cortelyou  house,  still  standing  on  the  old  road  to  Gowanus, 
with  the  date,  1699,  in  large  figures  on  its  gable.  Numerous  skeletons 
disinterred  in  its  immediate  vicinity — and  some  of  them  quite  recently 
— leave  little  doubt  respecting  the  locality. 

Stirling,  having  by  this  engagement  secured  the  safety  of  his  main 
body,  made  an  attempt  to  escape  with  his  small  surviving  remnant. 
But  he  was  now  hemmed  completely  in,  and  submitting  to  his  fate,  he 
surrendered.  Several  historians, — and  the  traditions  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, accredited  even  to  this  day, — have  affirmed  that  large  numbers 
perished  in  attempting  to  cross  the  marsh.  The  same  statement  was 
made  by  General  Howe,  in  his  official  dispatch.  It  is,  nevertheless, 
undoubtedly  a  mistake.  A  letter  is  extant,  written  a  few  weeks  after 
the  engagement,  by  Col.  Haslet,  who  commanded  a  regiment  in  Stir- 
ling's brigade,  and  was  one  of  those  who  crossed  the  marsh.  He 
states,  unequivocally,  that  the  retreat  over  the  marsh  "  was  effected  in 
good  order,  with  the  loss  of  one  man  drowned  in  passing." 


86 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  there  was  much  righting  within 
what  is  now  the  Cemetery  enclosure.  But  sharpshooters  are  known 
to  have  heen  perched  in  and  among  the  trees,  which  then  covered 
thickly  that  whole  range  of  hills  ;  and  tradition  has  it,  that  one  small 
party  of  riflemen  was  surrounded  and  exterminated,  on  the  very  emi- 
nence presented  in  the  plate.  That  these  practised  marksmen  would 
find  little  mercy  at  the  hands  of  an  enemy,  which  had  experienced  the 
fatal  precision  of  their  aim,  was  only  to  he  expected.  In  one  instance, 
at  least,  a  British  officer,  unwilling  to  remain  the  object  of  their  too 
partial  attentions,  left  his  post  and  men,  and  took  shelter  in  a  neigh- 
boring farm-house. 

As  the  bodies  of  the  victims  in  this  struggle  were  mostly  interred 
where  they  fell,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  Green-wood  is  the  sleep- 
ing-place of  some  of  them.  It  is  time  that  a  spot  were  set  apart,  on 
its  most  commanding  and  beautiful  eminence,  in  honor  of  these  early 
martyrs  for  freedom.  Here  should  be  deposited  the  relics  which  have 
been,  or  from  time  to  time  shall  be,  recovered,  in  the  numerous  excava- 
tions now  going  on,  within  and  around  these  grounds.  It  may  be  dif- 
ficult, nay,  impossible  to  distinguish  friend  from  foe.  It  matters  not. 
To  the  sturdy  Briton,  who  in  death  remembered  his  dear  island-home ; 
— the  poor,  hired  Hessian,  whose  last  thoughts  were  of  his  wife  and 
children  on  the  far-distant  Rhine  ; — and  the  patriot  yeoman,  whose 
dying  hour  was  sweetened  by  the  reflection  that  he  fell  in  a  righteous 
cause ; — to  each  and  all,  an  honorable  burial. 

"  Gather  him  to  his  grave  again, 
And  solemnly  and  softly  lay, 
Beneath  the  verdure  of  the  plain, 
The  warrior's  scatter'd  bones  away." 


BATTLE  HILL. 


And  here  we  may  allude  to  another  act  of  justice  and  gratitude, 
which  ought  not  longer  to  be  delayed.  It  is  well  known  that  the  re- 
mains of  the  American  prisoners,  who  died  in  such  numbers  in  the 
British  prison-ships,  and  whose  bodies  were  huddled  into  the  earth  on 
a  hill  in  North  Brooklyn,  were  a  few  years  since  piously  rescued  from 
desecration,  and  consigned  to  a  vault  not  far  from  the  entrance  to  the 
United  States  Navy  Yard.  This  arrangement — the  act  of  one  gener- 
ous individual — must,  of  necessity,  be  regarded  as  temporary.  The 
spot  and  structure  are  destitute  not  only  of  security  against  future  mo- 
lestation, but  of  the  dignity  and  solidity  which  become  such  a  tomb. 
Some  faint  efforts  have  indeed  been  made  to  accomplish  their  removal 
to  Green-wood.  But  why  await  the  tardy  action  of  the  General  Gov- 
ernment 1  Is  there  not  enough  of  patriotism  and  gratitude  in  these 
two  great  and  wealthy  communities,  to  raise  the  means  for  a  decent, 
nay,  for  a  noble  tribute  to  those  unfortunate  men,  who  died  for  their 
country  as  truly,  as  though  they  had  fallen  on  the  battle-field,  and  in 
the  very  hour  of  victory  1  Taken  while  defending  that  country's 
cause,  were  they  less  to  be  commiserated  while  living,  or  less  to  be 
honored  and  deplored  in  death, — that  they  were  compelled  to  expe- 
rience the  pestilential  damps  and  nauseous  horrors  of  those  dismal 
cabins,  into  which  they  were  crowded  like  so  many  sheep  ?  How 
many  fond  husbands  and  fathers, — how  many  well-beloved  sons,  amid 
those  appalling  scenes  of  want,  sickness,  and  death,  must  have  sighed 
for  the  comforts  and  the  solace  of  the  homes,  which  they  were  never 
more  to  see !  But  we  forbear.  Our  strongest  conception  of  such  a 
scene,  how  far  short  must  it  fall  of  the  stern  reality  !  In  that  master- 
piece of  reasoning  and  eloquence,  the  Oration  for  the  Crown,  the  in- 
comparable orator,  arguing  the  point,  that  well-meant  endeavor,  and  not 


88 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


success,  is  the  test  and  proof  of  merit,  reminds  his  countrymen  that 
their  funeral  honors  had  ever  been  paid  to  all  who  fell  in  the  service 
of  Athens — the  unsuccessful  as  well  as  the  victorious  brave.  The 
citizens  of  a  great  and  flourishing  state,  in  the  brightest  era  of  civiliza- 
tion and  Christianity,  should  learn  a  lesson  here,  from  pagan  Greece. 
Must  some  Demosthenes  arise,  with  superhuman  power,  to  explain  and 
enforce  their  duty,  before  they  will  hear  and  obey  its  dictates  1 

The  position  assigned  to  Lord  Stirling's  troops  and  General  Grant's 
brigade,  in  the  plans  of  the  battle  which  accompany  Marshall's  His- 
tory, and  Sparks'  Washington, — a  plan  which  has  been  lately  copied, 
without  correction,  in  Duer's  Life  of  Stirling, — is  very  erroneous.  On 
those  plans,  the  contending  forces  are  placed  about  opposite  to  Yellow 
Hook ;  whereas,  in  fact,  Stirling  did  not  advance  beyond  the  middle 
of  Gowanus  Bay — nor  farther  south  than  a  hill  on  Wyckoff's  grounds, 
lying  between  what,  in  the  future  topography  of  the  city,  will  be 
Eighteenth  and  Twentieth-streets.  There  was,  however,  if  we  may 
credit  tradition,  a  little  fighting  in  the  neighborhood  of  Yellow  Hook — 
a  slight  skirmish,  not  noticed  in  any  of  the  published  accounts,  between 
the  advancing  British  and  Atlee's  retiring  regiment,  in  which  a  few 
lives  were  lost. 

The  Knickerbocker  Magazine  for  April,  1839,  contains  an  interest- 
ing article  on  the  battle  of  Long  Island,  prepared  from  a  discourse 
originally  delivered  before  the  New  York  Historical  Society,  by 
Samuel  Ward,  Jr.  It  is  illustrated  by  an  engraved  sketch  of  the  battle- 
ground, which  is  believed  to  be,  by  far,  the  most  accurate  of  any  yet 
published.  The  plan  was  drawn  by  Major  D.  B.  Douglass,  formerly 
of  the  U.  S.  army,  from  personal  inspection.  The  major,  to  whose 
energy  and   taste  Green-wood  Cemetery  is  largely  indebted,  had 


BATTLE  HILL. 


89 


examined  the  entire  battle-ground,  with  the  eye  of  a  soldier  as  well  as 
surveyor,  and  the  sketch  which  he  furnished,  may  be  relied  on  as  au- 
thentic and  complete. 

Much  has  been  written  respecting  the  causes  of  this  defeat.  The 
sudden  illness  of  General  Greene,  who  had  superintended  the  fortifica- 
tions, and  knew  all  the  circumstances  and  necessities  of  the  American 
position, — the  neglect,  consequent,  perhaps,  on  the  change  of  com- 
manders, to  guard  properly  the  Jamaica  road, — were  doubtless  the  im- 
mediate causes  of  the  surprise,  the  rout,  the  capture  of  two  generals, 
and  of  so  many  soldiers. 

But  had  it  been  otherwise, — had  every  precaution  been  taken, — lit- 
tle more  could  have  been  done,  or  was  probably  expected,  than  to 
check  the  advancing  foe.  The  American  forces  might  have  retreated 
in  good  order,  with  comparatively  small  loss — but  they  must  have  re- 
treated. Five  thousand  raw  recruits — few  of  whom  had  ever  been  in 
battle,  and  most  of  whom  must  have  fought  without  cover — could  not 
long  have  resisted  twenty  thousand  well-appointed  veterans.  The  real 
wonder  is,  that  they  did  so  well.  It  was  the  first  fight  of  the  war, 
which  took  place  in  the  open  field.  To  no  greater  trial  of  courage 
could  those  patriot,  but  unpractised  soldiers  have  been  put.  Praise  to 
their  memories ! — most  of  them  stood  well  the  test.  They  boldly 
faced,  or  repeatedly  charged  the  foe — and  fled  or  yielded,  only  when 
longer  resistance  would  have  been  madness,  and  utter  extermination. 

There  is,  perhaps,  no  period  in  the  revolutionary  struggle,  to  which 
we  can  recur  more  profitably,  than  to  the  anxious  summer  and  the 
gloomy  autumn  of  1776.  The  courage  which  survived  such  disasters; 
the  hope  which  lived  on  amid  so  many  discouragements ;  the  faith 
which  no  reverses  nor  difficulties  could  shake,  and  which  finally  rose 

12 


90 


GREEN-WOOD  ILLUSTRATED. 


triumphant  over  them  all, — have  long  commanded,  and  must  ever  com- 
mand the  wonder  of  the  world.  And  shall  they  not  awaken  something 
more  than  admiration  in  us,  to  whose  benefit  they  have  inured  so 
largely  ? 

It  was  while  chilled  by  these  blasts  of  adversity, — while  watered,  as 
it  were,  by  the  tears  of  those  great  spirits,  who  for  a  long  time  could 
bring  to  the  suffering  cause  little  besides  their  own  indomitable  ener- 
gies,— that  the  tree  of  freedom  was  sending  its  roots  outward  and 
downward,  and  gathering  strength  for  that  rapidly  expanding  growth, 
which  marked  the  summer  of  its  prosperity.  It  is  not,  be  it  ever  remem- 
bered, the  magnitude  of  armies — the  masterly  tactics  by  which  mighty 
masses  are  made  to  march  and  countermarch — the  brilliancy  of  the 
charge — the  steady  bravery  of  the  repulse — or  all  the  bloody  statistics 
of  the  most  ensanguined  conflict,  which  can  attach  to  military  opera- 
tions a  true  and  lasting  interest.  A  hundred  terrible  battles  gave  to 
Napoleon  a  fame  unequalled  in  the  annals  of  war,  and  that  "  name  at 
which  the  world  grew  pale."  But  they  were  unconnected  with  high 
principle, — they  were  followed  by  no  great,  benignant  results, — and  in 
the  sober  estimate  of  future  times,  will  rank,  in  importance,  far  below 
those  Fabian  campaigns  which  laid  the  foundations  of  an  empire,  that 
already  walks,  with  its  rank  unchallenged,  among  the  foremost  powers 
of  earth. 

Not  in  vain,  then,  was  even  the  defeat  of  Brooklyn ;  not  in  vain,  the 
anguish  with  which  the  usually  calm  spirit  of  Washington  was  that 
day  torn.  Not  in  vain  were  those  two  anxious  days  and  nights  which 
he  passed  on  horseback,  and  which  saved  from  death  or  captivity,  nine 
thousand  men.  These,  and  more, — the  reluctant  abandonment  of  the 
city, — the  cowardice  and  desertion  of  the  militia, — the  loss  of  the  forts, 


BATTLE  HILL. 


91 


— and  that  sad  retreat  of  the  reduced,  discouraged,  barefooted,  and 
half-naked  army  through  the  Jerseys, — were  all  needed.  In  the  im- 
mortal letters  and  dispatches  of  the  great  commander,  and  in  the  pain- 
ful annals  of  the  time,  we  read  the  cost  and  the  value  of  what  we  are 
now  enjoying.  Without  these  we  had  not  fully  known  how  inherent, 
how  enduring  and  elastic  is  the  power  of  an  earnest  and  virtuous  pa- 
triotism. Without  them,  even  the  transcendent  name  of  Washington 
could  not  have  filled  the  mighty  measure  of  its  fame. 


THE  PILOT'S  MONUMENT. 


"  Some,  scarcely  parted  twice  a  cable's  length 

From  those  who  on  the  firm  earth  safely  stand, 
Shall  madly  watch  the  strain'd,  united  strength, 

And  cheers  and  wavings  of  the  gallant  band, 

Who  launch  their  life-boat  with  determined  hand. 
Ah  !  none  shall  live  that  zealous  aid  to  thank  : 

The  wild  surge  whirls  the  life-boat  back  to  land, — 
The  hazy  distance  suddenly  grows  blank, — 
In  that  last,  laboring  plunge,  the  fated  vessel  sank." 

This  structure  commemorates  the  loss  of  a  brave  and  humane  man. 
Thomas  Freeborn  was  one  of  those  hardy  mariners,  whose  profes- 
sional duty  keeps  them  almost  perpetually  on  the  sea,  and  whose 
daring  little  barks  often  meet  the  returning  ship,  while  yet  many 
leagues  from  port.  He  attempted  to  bring  in  the  ship  John  Minturn, 
in  the  severe  storm  of  the  14th  February,  1846.  In  spite  of  every 
effort,  she  was  driven  upon  the  Jersey  shore, — and  Freeborn,  with  a 
large  part  of  the  ship's  company,  was  drowned,  though  close  to  the 
beach,  and  within  hail  of  hundreds,  who  unfortunately  could  afford 
them  no  relief.  His  brother  pilots,  with  a  liberality  which  does  them 
great  credit,  reared  this  imposing  monument.  On  a  sarcophagus, 
which  rests  upon  a  massive  base,  is  placed  a  ship's  capstan,  with  a 
cable  coiled  around  it.  From  this  rises  a  mast,  whose  truncated  top 
is  surmounted  by  a  small  and  well-executed  statue  of  Hope,  supported 


THE  PILOT'S  MONUMENT. 


93 


by  her  anchor,  and  pointing  to  the  skies.  The  front  of  the  sarcopha- 
gus bears,  in  relief,  a  ship  and  a  schooner,  mutilated  by  the  storm,  and 
tossed  by  the  waves. 

Its  height  and  position  make  the  monument  a  conspicuous  object 
from  the  bay, — and  will  often  arrest  the  eye  of  the  pilot  as  he  goes  and 
comes  on  his  hazardous  but  responsible  errands.  If  it  remind  him  of 
his  own  possible  fate, — it  will  assure  him  also  that  the  faithful  discharge 
of  duty  is  never  without  its  encouragement : 

/Eternumque  locus  Palinuri  nomen  habebit. 


This  tempest  once  blew  soft  and  fair, — 
This  storm-gust  seem'd  bright,  pictured  air, — 
These  torrents,  rushing  from  the  sky, 
Were  dews  below,  or  clouds  on  high. 

The  fires,  in  boreal  flames  that  play'd 
So  softly  o'er  last  evening's  shade, 
Now  fierce  athwart  the  darkness  glare, 
Riving,  with  forked  bolts,  the  air. 

These  angry  waves,  that  swell  and  roar, 
Late  broke  in  ripples  on  the  shore, — 
Or  where  yon  sea-dogs  rend  their  prey, 
Calm  as  a  sleeping  infant  lay. 

Swift  and  6ecure  the  sea-boy  glides — 
But  ah  !  what  peril  near  him  hides  ; 
Beneath  him,  or  above  him  cast 
The  sunken  rock,  or  furious  blast. 

Christian!  thy  Pilot  walks  the  wave. 
Full  wise  to  guide — full  strong  to  save  ; 
His  faintest  word  shall  still  the  roar 
Of  winds,  and  bear  thee  safe  to  shore. 


THE  GERMAN  LOTS-THE  ODD-FELLOWS'  GROUNDS. 


"  Pilgrims  that  journey  for  a  certain  time, — 

Weak  birds  of  passage  crossing  stormy  seas, 
To  reach  a  better  and  a  brighter  clime, — 

We  find  our  parallels  and  types  in  these  ! 

Meanwhile,  since  death,  and  sorrow,  and  disease, 
Bid  helpless  hearts  a  barren  pity  feel ; 

Why  to  the  Poor  should  check'd  compassion  freeze? 
Brothers,  be  gentle  to  that  one  appeal, — 
Want  is  the  only  wo  God  gives  you  power  to  heal !" 

The  enclosures  presented  in  this  plate,  are  upon  Lawn  Avenue. 
One  of  them  is  a  public  lot,  where  a  single  grave,  at  moderate  cost, 
can  always  be  had.  Another,  of  about  the  same  size,  belongs  to  sev- 
eral German  families.  The  ardor  with  which  these  emigrants  cherish 
all  the  ties  of  kin  and  country,  is  well  known.  Far  away  from  the 
homes  and  graveyards  of  their  Fatherland,  it  is  natural  that  they 
should  cling  together  in  life, — and  that,  in  death,  they  should  wish  to 
lie  side  by  side.  Beyond  the  Public  Lot  extend,  for  a  considerable 
distance,  the  grounds  of  the  Odd-Fellows.  Several  Lodges  of  this 
charitable  and  great  fraternity  have  here  made  provision  for  their  last 
resting-place.  This  spot  has  already  become  populous ;  and  hundreds 
of  long  low  mounds,  in  close  juxtaposition,  betoken  the  aspect  which, 
through  its  entire  extent,  Green- Wood  must  assume  at  no  distant  day. 


LIST  OF  ENGRAVINGS. 


Map,  (to  face  vigiietle.) 

View  of  the  Entrance,  -      -     Page  8 

"       "      Keeper's  Lodge,  10 

"       "      Poet's  Mound,   13 

"       "      Ocean  Hill,  15 

"       "      Indian  Mound,  19 

"       "      Bay-side  Avenue,     -       --       --      --       --       -  26 

"       "      Bay-grove  Hill,  26 

View  from  the  Ground  intended  for  the  Clinton  Monument,      ...       -  40 

View  of  the  Tour  from  Oaken  Bluff,  ------  40 

"      "  «        Fern  Hill,  41 

"       "      Lawn-girt  Hill,  -61 

"       "      Tour  from  Ocean  Hill,  62 

"       "      Sylvan  Cliff,   63 

"       "      Grounds  of  the  Church  of  our  Saviour,  (Vista  Hill,)      ...  65 

"       "      Grecian  Obelisk,  (Ocean  Hill,)  73 

"       "      Battle  Hill,  79 

"       "      Pilot's  Monument,  92 

"       "      German  Lots,  and  the  Odd-Fellows'  Grounds,       ...       -  94 


names  m  ote  mmm&h  subsgiibbbs 


RURAL  CEMETERIES  ILLUSTRATED. 


Achelis,  Thomas 
Ackerman,  James  M- 
Adams,  J.  C. 
Agnew,  A.  M. 
Agnew,  John  T. 
Aldis,  Charles  J. 
Aldrich,  E.  T. 
Alford,  S.  M. 
Allaire,  Alexander 
■  Allen,  Francis 
Allen,  John 
Anderson,  Dr.  James 
Anderson,  John  Jacob 
Anderson,  Win.  C. 
Anthony,  Thomas  R. 
Archer,  Mrs.  Daniel  O. 
Arnold,  Dr.  Wm. 
Arthur,  Edward  H. 
Ashley,  Dr.  James 


Ast( 


,  Wm.  1 


Atherton,  F. 
Atterbury,  Wm. 
Atwater,  George  M. 
Avery,  S.  P. 
Ayres,  Dr.  Daniel 
Ayres,  Robert 
Basioli,  Mrs.  Antonio 
Bailey,  Joseph 

Baker,  Miss  

Baker,  P.  H. 
Baker,  Wm. 
Baldwin,  N.  Andrew 
Banks,  Henry  W. 
Banks,  Wm. 
Bannister,  James 
Baptist,  Anthony,  Jr. 
Barker,  Mrs.  Abraham 
Barker,  Mrs.  Eliza 
Barker,  J.  O. 
Barker,  J.  Willard 
Barker.  Dr.  Luke 
Rarritt,  Charles  F. 
Bartow,  E.  J. 
Bartram,  Mrs.  Thomas 

Bass,   

Bayles,  N.  H. 
Bayley,  W.  A. 
Beale,  J.  C. 
rVardsl.-y,  L.  T. 
Beebe,  Wm.  J. 
Bell,  John 
Belloni,  Louis  J. 
Benedict,  Caleb  S. 
B'*nson.  Charles  S. 
Betts,  Wm. 
Betts.  Wm.  W. 
Bill,  Edward 
Bird.  Clinton  G. 
Black,  Mrs.  Mary 
Blakeley,  Mrs.  Andrew 
Blatchtord,  Samuel  D. 
Blenis,  Mrs.  O. 
Blunt,  G.  B. 
Bogle,  James 
Bolmore,  B 


Bonnett,  Peter  R. 
Bookhout,  E. 
Booth,  Samuel 
Bottomley,  John 
Bouton,  L.  S. 
Boyd,  John  I. 
Bovd,  Robert  H. 
Boyle,  John  C. 
Bowman,  Samuel 
Bradbury,  J.  K. 
Bradish,  Mrs.  Luther 
Bradshaw,  H.  B. 
Brady,  Archibald  C. 
Braisted,  Wm.  C. 
Brandon,  Alexander 
Brandon,  George 
Brass,  J.  D. 

Breck,  Miss  

Brennan,  G.  S. 
Brewer,  Merwin  R. 
BriL'L's,  .lames  M. 
Briers,  Mrs.  John 
Brigham,  John  Tyler 
Blind,  Henry 
Brizee,  George  M. 
Brock,  John 
Brower,  John  L. 
Brown,  Isaac  H. 
Brown,  John  C. 
Brown,  John  E. 
Brown,  J.  F. 
Brown,  Wm.  Smith 
Brown,  Geo.  Washingto 
Bryson,  P.  M. 
Buchanan,  R.  M. 
Buck,  Wm.  C. 
Bu.-kinsrhnm,  George  A 
Bucklev,  W.  F. 
Bunker,  Mrs.  B.  F. 
Bitmap  &  Babcock 
Burrill,  Wm.  B. 
Bushnell,  O. 
Busteed.  Richard 
Butler,  James  R. 
Butler,  Marcus  B. 
Butterworth,  J.  F. 
Byrd,  George  J. 
Chase,  Nelson 
Cummimr,  J.  P. 
Conger,  A.  B. 
Clark.  Edward  P. 
Cotrell,  B.  S. 
Cannon,  Charles  James 
Cole,  Jacob 
Candee,  E.  W. 
Cany,  Edward 
Cleaveland,  J. 
Cook,  Zebedee 
Cartwright,  A. 
Cutlip,  Henry  E. 
Collins,  George 
Crane,  J.  J. 
Clarke,  T.  E. 
Cropsey,  J.  E. 
Childs,  B.  F. 
Coe,  F.  A. 
Carter,  James  C. 
Carter,  R. 


Coddington,  Widow  Mary 
Crolius,  Clarkson 
Clark,  L.  E. 
Cooke,  Thomas  W. 
Carpenter,  Warren 
Codman,  Wm. 
Clark,  Wm.  Young 
Crane,  Augustus 
Cra 


e,  Theodor 
lolly,  Charles  M. 


linstock,  D.  A. 
-ishing,  G.  W.  B. 
iristman.  Charles  G. 
infield,  Edward 
Jles,  Francis  B. 
lrleton,  C,  G. 
ay  ton,  W.  A. 
avton,  James  H. 
irroll,  Anthony  B. 
iristianson,  Edward  T. 
tapin,  Dr.  John  R. 
■"'■ker,  Mrs.  Eben  B. 
ibb,  Ah 


,  Jarr 


i  M. 


Cock,  Dr.  Thomas 
Cortelvou,  Peter  C. 
Corwin,  John 


l.'ll  &  J 


Campbell,  James 
Catlin,  Mrs.  John  S. 
Carroll,  J.  B. 
Champlin,  W.  C. 
Colvin,  Mrs.  Andrew  J. 
Colman,  Mrs.  Wm. 
Cragin,  B.  F. 
Clark,  Ebenezer 
Cooper,  Benson  S. 
Charles,  Maurice 
Carpenter,  Miss  Ann  A. 
Col2ate,  Mrs.  Sarah 
Carlile,  Thomas 
Carlile,  N.  D. 
Cox,  J.  F. 

Carpenter,  Widow  Sarah 
Chescbrough,  E. 
Crosley,  C.  W. 
Dodge,  Henry  S. 
Di.-kinson,  J.  J. 
Dowley,  John 


Dougl 


s,  A.  1 


Dav,  Thomas 
De  Witt,  J.  H. 
Dole,  Nathaniel  L. 
Dickinson,  Edwin  S. 
Daniel,  R. 
Dreyer,  F.  A.,  Jr. 
Dole,  Wm. 
Duryee,  Jacob 
Duryee,  Mrs.  Isaac 
Downs,  Mrs.  Benjamin  F. 
Dashwood,  G.  L. 
Dunham,  Mrs.  John  B. 


Disbrow,  Wm.  D. 
Davis,  Samuel  C. 
Dunkin,  Miss  Hesn 
Dean,  Miss  Louisa 
Dunham,  John 
Dunlap  &  Thompa 
Dougherty,  Mrs.  Jo 


Davie,  Miss  Mar-nr. 

Dodge,  Wm. 

De  Coppett,  Edward 

Dolby,  Mrs.  Wm. 
Durand,  A.  B. 
Dwight,  Edmund 
Duryee,  Mrs.  Abraha 
Davis,  Wm.  J. 
Dill,  Vincent 
Donohne,  James 
Edwards,  Jonathan 
Ellis,  R.  O. 
Edwards,  Alfred 
Earnest,  James 


it.  Dr.  Samw 

is:,  Washing 


Fiel 


,  Wm. 


Franklin,  Morris 
Frost,  Samuel 
Francis,  L. 
Fox,  Samuel  M. 
Field,  Cyrus  W. 
Flanders.  Benjamin 
Follett,  R.  F. 
Finn,  A.  T. 
Fitzgerald,  Ezekiel 
Freeman,  Charles  P. 
Fletcher,  Oscar  B. 
Freeman,  Dr.  A. 
Fowler,  S.  P. 
Fairfield,  Mrs.  S.  L. 
Finch,  Nathaniel 
Foster,  James 
Flanelly,  Mrs.  Michael 

Earless,  Miss  

Floyd,  Mrs.  Auguste 
Forsyth,  John 
Ferris,  John  H. 
Farre,  J.  R. 
Fiske,  E.  W. 
French,  Daniel 
Force,  John  C. 
Giflord,  George 
Griffith,  G.  W. 
Gunther,  Christian  G. 
Gerding,  G.  F. 
Griffin,  John  F. 
Gimbrede,  G.  N. 
Gibson,  Lewis 


lage,  Wm. 
M,  John 
Jreen,  Mrs.  Joseph 
liles,  John  S. 
Joss,  Mrs.  Frances  M. 
Joldsmith,  Dr.  Alban 
ieissenlminer,  F.  W..  Jr 
Miss  S.  E. 


er,  T. 
a,  Dr.  Hor 


Howe,  H.  A. 
Hopkins,  W.  A 
Hopkins,  W.  A.,  Jr. 
Hoffman,  S.  B.,  Jr. 
Hammond,  Samuel 
Holmes,  J.  E. 
Hoyt,  C. 
Hincken,  W.  W. 
Hoffman.  Martin 
Haviland,  R.  F. 
Harris,  J.  D. 
Harris,  Thomas  B. 
Hanna, John 
Hyer,  Samuel  D. 
Hague,  John 
Herring,  F.  W 
Hayes,  H.  N. 
Hubbard,  Samuel  N. 
Hubbard,  Wm.  H. 
Howard,  John  T. 
Hart,  Lucius 
Hoadley,  David 
Hunt,  Samuel  V. 
Han,  Francis 
Henrique,  Charles 
Hills,  Jan-is  H 
Hill,  Henry  S. 
Harmon,  J. 
Hoffman,  A.  W. 
Hoyt,  J.  K. 
Hoyt,  Seymour 
Howe,  Augustus 
Henderson,  Alexander,  J" 
Hunt,  Thomas 
Hardorp,  J. 
Hoeber,  W.  A. 
Hagiiertv,  Ogden 
Hastie,  W.  S. 
Hoe,  Peter  S. 
Hawk,  Miss  Mary 
Haviland,  Stephen  A. 
Hatfield,  Amos  F. 
Harbeck,  John  H. 
Horton,  R. 

Haywood,  G.  M 
Holbrook,  E. 
Hall,  Mrs.  A.  D 


NAMES  OF  THE  ORIGINAL  SUBSCRIBERS. 


Hone,  Philip 
Haughwo.it,  E.  V. 
Heather,  Win. 
Hutchins,  George  H. 
Heard.  .James,  Jr. 
Havnel,  Dr.  A. 
Hubbard,  N.  T. 
Hutton,  Rev.  Dr.  M.  S. 
Hoyt,  J. 

Hurlbut,  Mrs.  H.  A. 
Han,  Mrs.  R.  H. 
Hinshelwuod,  Robert 
Hall,  Henry  P. 

Hopkins,  Mrs.  

Heroy,  J.  M. 
Hnlsey,  Mrs.  Elinor  C. 
Hamilton,  Jacob 
Harris,  Dennis 
Hudson,  Miss  Bridget  M. 
Hall,  Geo.  L. 
Hanks,  Owen  G. 
Hawland,  Walter 
Hill,  James  R. 
Hadden,  David 
Hoffman,  Mrs.  L.  M. 
Hewett,  Mrs.  Thomas 
Horn,  A.  F.  M. 
Holden,  H. 
Hall,  Charles 
Hampton,  Alonzo  R. 
Hull,  J.  C. 

Hartshorne,  Miss  C.  C. 
Health,  Mrs.  Francis 
Handlin,  Wm. 
Hassal.  John  S. 
Haight.  Mrs.  Charles 
Hill,  James  A. 
Ives,  David  S. 
Ironsides,  Robert  B. 
Ingersoll,  C.  L. 
Jones,  S.  T. 
Jenkins,  H.  B. 
Johnson,  Henry  W. 
Johnson,  Theodore 
Jones,  E. 
Johnson,  Henry 
Jordan,  Conrad 
Johnson,  Miss  C.  J. 
Jaques,  J.  C. 
Jones,  W. 
Jackson,  J.  A. 
Jenkins,  Thomas  W. 
Johnson,  Miss  Sarah 
Johnson,  W.  S. 
Jackson,  Augustus 
Johnson,  Mrs.  Charles  E. 
Jackson,  Mrs.  Abram  W. 
Jones,  Mrs.  Susan 
Jacobus,  David 

Kemble,  Wm. 

Kingsh.nd,  Miss  II.  C. 

Kinsman,  Israel 

Kobbe,  Wm. 

Kimball,  D.  S. 

Kissam,  A. 

Kearney,  J.  R. 

Kissam;  Wm.  A. 

K.-llogg,  W.  0. 

Kin-.  James  L. 

Ketcham,  J. 

King,  John 

Knapp,  S.  K. 

Knceland,  Funnan  L. 

Knock,  Thomas 

Km-,  Win.  M. 

Kissam,  S. 

Kingsland,  D. 

Knap]>,  Stephen  II. 

Kingsley,  E.  M. 

Key,  F.  C. 


Krebs,  Rev.  John  M. 
Koop,  G.  II. 
Kenward,  Thomas 
Kimball,  Mrs.  M.  T.  C. 
Kee,  O. 

Livingston,  Crawford 
Lent,  Mortimer 
Lyman,  John  H. 
Lyman,  Lewis 

Lasak,  Francis  W. 
Langley,  W.  C. 

Leihbridge,  Robert 
Lord,  S. 
Leland,  J.  A. 
Leeds,  Samuel,  Jr. 
Locke,  John  D. 
Lewis,  W.  H. 
Linen,  James 
Lawrence,  D.  Lysack 
Little,  Edward 
Lord,  Joseph  N. 
Libby,  Ira 
Lord,  C.  H. 
Lothian,  George  B. 
Lloyd,  James  O. 
Lang, John 

Lester,  Andrew 
Lewis,  John  Walker 
Ludlam,  Miss  Eliza 
Lewis,  Benedict,  Jr. 
Lowrie,  Rev.  John  C. 
Lane,  Smith  E. 
Leroy,  Jacob 
Lane,  Miss  C.  A. 
Lehman,  C.  H. 
Lockwood,  J.  B. 
Lewis,  George 
Leroy,  Peter  V. 
Lawrence,  Luther  M. 
Lossing,  Benson  J. 
Larue,  Isaac 
Lawrence,  Wm.  S. 
Mottram,  M. 
Morewood,  J.  R. 
Mills,  J.  W. 
Miller,  John  H. 
Marvin,  R. 
Meserole,  Jacob 
Morrison,  Alexander 
Morrison,  James 
Manhews,  J.  M. 
Marvin,  A.  B. 
Mitchell,  M. 
Mead,  Ralph 
Macy,  F.  H. 
Mead,  J.  S. 
Messellier,  H.  L. 
Marvin,  A.  S. 
Mead,  Walter 
Morrison,  David 
Martin,  R.,  Jr. 
Marsh,  Wm.  R. 
Moore,  J.  T. 
Munson,  Robert 
Mercantile  Library  As.-oc'i 
Mangain,  Daniel 
Mullany,  E.  B. 
Macy,  Miss  Elizabeth 
Macy,  Miss  Martha 
Mead,  S.  M. 
Miles,  W.  B. 
Miles,  A. 
Merriam,  W.  B. 
Matthews,  J. 
Marsh,  J.  P. 
Mumford,  J.  Paige 
Moore,  Nathaniel  F 


Mott,  Dr.  Valentine 

Mowbray,  Wesley 

Miller,  Mrs.  George  C. 

Malcolm,  J.  F. 

Mil.  hell,  Mrs.  Catharine 

Marshall,  Mrs.  Wm.  H. 

Miller,  .Mrs.  Mary 

Maybie,  Abraham  P. 

Mas. .n,  Rev.  Cyrus 

Mather,  Miss 

Mortimer,  G.  T. 

Milnor,  Charles  E. 

Mace,  John 

Mann,  Wm. 

Mitchell,  Miss  Mary 

Meeks.  Mrs.  Sarah  C. 

Morrison,  Mrs.  John  C. 

Martin,  Mrs.  Wm. 

Martin,  Isaac 

Molliit,  Miss  Mary 

Marsh,  Mrs.  Willet  P. 

Mathews,  J.  Seymour 

Meakim,  Alexander 

Mac  Gregor,  Daniel 

MeCormick,  R. 

McLean,  J. 

McKesson,  John  W. 

McCurdy,  R.  II 

McEvers,  Bachc 

McNeil,  J 

McBridc,  Henry 

Mc  Lean,  Henry 

McNulty,  Marvin 

MeNaughlin,  G.  P. 

McGrath,  M. 

McChesney,  Wm.  F. 

McKnight,  Dr.  Scott 

McGown,  John  R. 

McCoon,  Mrs.  Marv 

McLcay,  Thomas  W. 

McKee,  J.  W. 

New  bold,  George 

Nelson,  George  P. 

Noyes,  Samuel 

Naylor,  Joseph 

Nil'cs,  (Jeorge  W. 

Noble,  John  Sanford 

Nivens,  Miss  Mary  F. 

Nolton,  Mrs.  R.  H. 

Noe,  M. 

Newell,  Wm.  E. 

Nicholl,  Mrs.  Samuel 

Ogden,  Richard  H. 

Okell,  Wm. 

Oakley,  Richard 

Ormsbee,  J.  H  ,  Jr. 

Otten,  Hinrich 

Otis,  Wm.  H. 

Ovin-ton,  W.  H. 

Oakley,  J.  W. 

Osborn,  Abner 

Osborn,  Mrs.  Win. 

Oakley,  R.  S. 

Orr,  John  W. 

O'Bovce,  Miss  Phoebe 

Priest,  Wm.  H. 

Peck,  George  B. 
i  Phalen,  James 

Prime,  E. 

Phillips,  Louis 

Powell,  E.  S. 

l'ull.  y,  Grahams 

Piatt,  G.  W. 

Proctor,  G.  W. 

Paret,  John 

Perry,  R.  B. 

Polhcmus,  Theodore 

Peck,  Alfred  P. 

Poole,  Wm. 

Phelps,  G.  W. 


Pentz,  B. 
Prothcroe,  Robert 
Prentice,  J.  H. 
Packer,  Wm.  S. 
Putnam,  O.  C. 
Purler,  George  S. 
Petrie,  Miss  J.  A. 
Polliamus,  John 
Phelps,  George 
Purdy,  Mrs.  Wm.  T. 

Parsons,  Mrs.  

Perry,  Mrs.  Frances  S. 
Piatt,  John 
Post,  Mrs.  Lavinia 
Phyfe,  J.  M. 
Piatt,  Nathaniel  C. 
Parish,  Henry 
Pierce,  Mrs.  Edward 
Pell,  Wm.  W. 
Pritchard,  Mrs.  A. 
Pope,  J.  L. 
Prosser,  Thomas 
Pomeroy,  B.,  Jr. 
Quintarel,  O.  P. 
Ray,  Robert 
Richardson,  G. 
Rid-way,  Charles 
Rose,  Wm.  W. 
Roe,  G.  Scott 
Rice,  W.  W. 
Rothmaler,  B. 
Rossiter,  C.  D.,  Jr. 
Ritchie,  Charles 
Ross,  Andrew 
Robinson,  B.  F. 
Randall,  David 
Root,  Russell  C. 
Rowland,  George 
Read,  Geo.  W. 
Richards,  W.  W, 
Rozat,  Guillaume 
Raper,  B.  W. 
Richards,  Thomas  F. 
Robinson,  James  P. 
Rockwell,  Samuel  D. 
Root,  Albert 
Relyea,  Mrs.  Peter 
Rowell,  Charles  S. 
Robson,  Dr.  Benjamin  R. 
Redway,  Miss  S. 
Reed,  John 
Rich,  Abraham  B. 
Rankin,  Wm. 
Ridabock,  Mrs.  M.  A. 
Richardson,  Mrs.  S. 
Reed,  Mrs.  Sarah 
Rapctti,  Mrs.  Michelc 
Ralph,  Dr.  Joseph 
Selden,  Dudley 
Stiles,  Samuel 
Smith,  James  F. 
Smith,  Algernon  Sidney 
Smillie,  W.  C. 
Smith,  Augustus  N. 
Sluvler,  James  S. 
Stevens,  W.  II. 
Stebbins,  H.  G. 
Strong,  Geo.  W. 
Stout,  A.  G. 
Smith,  Jesse  C. 
Spear,  George 
Skippon,  Robert 
Scrymser,  J. 
Schobel,  James 
Seaman,  J.  A. 
Shaw,  James  M. 
Smith,  Charles  H. 
Smalley,  Geo.  C. 
Smith,  Thomas  U. 
Strong,  Damas 


Siffken,  Francis  E. 
St.  Felix,  George  Edward 
Sand,  C.  H. 
Schroeder,  H. 
Sherman,  Byron 
Schuftldt,  W.  T. 
Simpson,  Frederick 
Smith,  James  T. 
Southwick,  Nathan 
Slote,  Henry  L. 
Sill,  ck,  Daniel  C. 
Sadlier,  Dennis 
Smith,  Andrew  A. 
Sus,  A.  Wm. 
Southwick,  G.  W. 
Steel,  Joseph 
Smith,  Hiram 
Smith,  Stephen 
Sandt'ord,  Charles  B. 
Schultz,  Mrs.  J.  S. 
Sands,  A.  B. 
Shepherd,  Thomas  S. 
Stebbins,  Russell 
Scofield,  Mrs.  W.  H. 
Seymour,  W.  M. 
Stilwell,  James 
Seeley,  Richard 
Sitcher,  Mrs.  Andrew 
Sweet,  Ezra  B. 
Smith,  Miss  Elizabeth 
Stone,  Samuel  B. 
Soulard,  B. 
Schermerhorn,  A. 
Stout,  Theodore 
Schmidt,  Mrs.  John  W. 
Sattathwaite,  J.  B. 
Sandford,  Marcus  B. 
Seeley,  W.  A. 
Swan,  John 
Smith,  Thomas  W. 
Stuart,  R.  L. 
Smith,  Jotham 
Schuchardt,  C.  W.  F. 
Squire,  Charles 
Sears,  Robert 
Sturm,  Isaac  A. 
Seymour,  Isaac  N. 
Seaver,  Benjamin  F. 
Strong,  Edward 
Searl,  Lewis  F. 
Speidel,  Mrs.  C.  M. 
Schmidt,  Dr.  John  W.,  Jr. 
Sickels,  W.  B. 
Stoneall,  J.  C.  ~ 
Senior,  Edward  H. 
Thompson,  Jonathan,  Jr. 
Thomas,  L.  W 
Thorn,  J.  M. 
Tag-ard,  Win. 
Trcadwcll,  W.  E. 
Tomes,  Francis 
Titus,  S.  R. 
Thorburn,  James,  Jr. 
Talman,  W.  H. 
Tompkins,  E.  O. 
Thomas,  John 
Timpson,  J.  II. 
Townsend,  John  I. 
Townsend,  Wm.  II. 
Thome,  R.  J. 
Taylor,  Gordon  P. 
Trimble,  D. 
Tillou,  Charles  D. 
Thai!,  John  F. 
Turnure,  John  L. 
Thompson,  Andrew 
Taber,  C.  C. 
Tompson,  Mrs.  Thomas 
Tinson,  T.  R. 
Taylor,  H.  S. 


NAMES  OF  THE  ORIGINAL  SUBSCRIBERS. 


Traphagan,  Mrs.  C. 
Taylor,  J.  D. 
Turner,  John 
Tucker,  Mrs.  Joseph 
Tallman,  Mrs.  George  D. 
Teale,  John  P. 
Trenor,  Dr.  James 
Taylor,  Mrs.  John 
Tobitt,  Mrs.  John  H. 
Thompson,  H.  G. 
Tuffs,  Lucie  n 
Turnure,  Abraham 
Totten,  Mrs.  J.  M. 
Underhill,  Daniel 
Unkart,  E. 

Van  Santvoord,  Cornelius 
Vandervoort,  P.  H. 
Van  Nest,  Henry 
Varick,  James  L. 
Van  Rensselaer,  H.  R. 
Valentine,  A.  A. 
Vyse,  Charles 
Valentine,  Richard  C. 
Vanderbeck,  James 
Van  Horn,  John 
Vincent,  Benjamin 
Van  Saun,  Mrs.  John  A. 
Van  Raden,  Benjamin 
Vandervoort,  David 
Van  Wagenen,  G. 
Van  Antwerp,  Mrs.  James 
Varick,  Dr.  T.  R. 
Vallance,  Mrs.  C. 
Van  Blarcom,  Mrs.  A. 
Vermilye,  J.  D. 
Van  Der  Werken,  Mrs. 
Weed,  Nathaniel 
Wright,  C.  W. 
Win.  low,  James 
Whitney,  Stephen 
Watkiss,  C.  L. 
Wakeman,  Win. 
Webb,  Charles  D. 
Willets,  Daniel  T. 
Wilmot,  J. 
Waldron,  J.  P. 
Wallace,  John 
Whitlock,  Mrs.  T.  E 
Ward,  Miss 
Woram,  John 
Wheeler,  Jackson 
Ward,  James 
West,  Mrs.  Joseph  I. 
Wilson,  Mrs.  Nathaniel 
Whitney,  Benjamin  S. 
Webb,  Mrs.  Wm. 
Walker,  J.  N. 
Woodruff,  David 
Wilson,  Mrs.  B.  M. 
Wood,  Mrs.  E.  B. 
Wes'ervelt,  Daniel 
White,  N. 
Williams,  E.  P. 
Whittemore,  Mrs.  S. 
Walsh,  Braine 
Wyman,  L.  B. 
Williams,  Mrs.  Elizabeth 
Whittemore,  Wm.  T. 
Winser,  John  R. 
Watson,  Mrs.  E.  Baker 
Washburn,  H.  A 
Weed,  Wm.  C. 
White,  F. 
White,  Edward 
White,  R.  H. 
Wells,  Joseph  C 
Webb,  G. 
Weeks,  E.  A. 
Wenman,  J.  F. 


White,  R.  Cornell 
Ward,  B. 

Wood,  George  W. 
While,  John  T. 
Waterbury,  H.  H. 
Wells,  Charles 
Wood,  R.  E. 
Walsh,  George 
Walsh,  W.  W. 
Wiley,  John 
Wyman,  R.  A. 
Warford,  W.  K. 
White,  W.  A. 
Webster,  George  C. 
White,  E. 
Watmough,  R.  B. 
Whiting,  W.  E. 
Waller,  Alfred 
Wright,  E. 
Wesson,  David 
Wesson,  Andrew 
Wilcomb,  J. 
Wood,  George  S. 
Winter,  J.  W. 
Youle,  John  C.  B. 
Young,  John 
Young,  Stephen  B. 
Zimmermani!,  John  C. 


■)      0  Oj<  (,  </  <>(j 


Adams,  Mrs.  B. 
Abraham,  George 
Arcnlarius,  P.  J. 
Atlantic  Lodge,  No.  50, 
I.  O.  of  O.  F. 
Atkins,  David  S. 

Ames,  

Atkins,  J. 
Adams,  P. 


Brooks,  T. 
Bennett,  Winant  J. 
Bullock,  M. 

Buck,  Mrs.  

Bradford,  W. 
Briggs,  Mrs.  J. 
Blackbume,  R.  C. 
Butler,  James  G. 
Bond,  Miss 
Bennam,  John 
Bellingham,  Dr.  J. 
Buck,  Thomas  W. 
Bailey,  Robert 
Banks,  M.  E. 
Brush,  J.  B. 
Boyd,  Mis* 


Urva, 


,  Hiram 

,  E.  W. 


Wai 


,  John 


Ballard,  L. 
Beam,  Gilbert 
Bridge,  E. 
Beam,  Mrs. 
Berry,  John 
Blanch,  John 
Bergen,  Peter 
Bnrh.mk,  Mrs.  Wm. 


Brower,  Samuel 
Bates,  J.  A. 
Ball,  Mrs.  Mary 


Bicknell,  Miss  Henrietta 
Booth,  Mrs.  R. 
Bigelow,  Louisa 
Barkuloo,  Miss  M.  A. 
Burkuloo,  Tunis 
Burtis,  O.  D. 
Christianson,  Nicholas 
Coope,  David 
Cox,  Henry 
Conklin,  Solomon 
Childs,  G.  C. 
Conklin,  H.  N. 
Campbell,  Alexander 
Cartwright,  W. 
Copland,  J.  M. 
Cortelyon,  John 
Cullen,  Dr.  H.  J. 
Craven,  Tunis 
Chapman,  W.  P. 
Cornell,  Chauncey 
( 'owing,  James  A. 
Clark,  H.  L. 
Cook,  Francis 
Cross,  J.  A. 
Collier,  Mrs.  Mary 


Dyckm 


,  F.  H. 


Miss 


Davis,  Mrs.  Mar 
Davis,  B.  W. 
Demming,  Mis: 
Dodge,  Mrs. 
Duryee,  Jacob 
Day,  Willard 
Decker,  Dr.  D. 
Demott,  Peter 
De  Cost, 
De  Le  Re 
Dent,  The 
Edey,  Henry 


Ellison,  Sarah 
Eberle,  Mrs.  Matilda 
Evans,  Wm. 
Eskildson,  Mrs.  Mary 
Elwell,  J.  W. 
Eagle  Lodge,  No.  94,  ) 
I.  O.  of  O.  F.  \ 
Evans,  Ira  P. 
Field,  Charles  A. 
Farley,  Frederick  A. 
Fletcher,  H.  R. 
Fobes,  Mrs.  A. 
Graves,  R. 
Gracie,  Mrs. 
Gait,  George 
Gardner,  Miss  Jane  E. 
Garrison,  J. 
Graham,  J.  B. 
Gilfilland,  Dr.  George 
Graham,  Augustus 
Greenwood,  J. 
Greene,  Mrs.  Sidney 
Greene,  R.  H. 
Guy,  Samuel  S. 
Gansevoort,  Mrs.  S.  II. 
Grataeap,  J.  L. 
Granger,  James 
Gilbert,  Joseph 
Giffin,  Abraham 


Gro 


:,  G. 


,,  Dr.  Nelson  A. 
Herbert,  Sidney  C. 
Hall,  John 
Hall,  George 
Harvev,  C.  A. 
Holt,  Mrs.  J.  P. 
Hartmann,  W. 
Humphrey,  Mrs.  James 
Harrison/Miss  Mary 


Hurd,  Dr.  T.  W. 
Hvde,  Dr.  Lucius 
Harper,  Mrs.  J.  W. 
Hutchins,  R.  G. 
Hastings,  George 
Hale,  J.  L. 
Haslett,  Dr.  John 
Hodgkins,  Thomas 
Hathewav,  Mrs.  H.  C. 
Hance,  W.  C. 
Hayes,  J.  J. 
Hatfield,  Wm. 
Hampson,  R.  J. 
Harman,  Mrs. 
Hathwav,  Miss  S. 
Hillard.John  B. 
Isaacs,  John  S. 
Johnson,  S.  E. 


Ryder 


Johns 


,  Mrs.  J. 


Jenks,  Henry 
Johnson,  J.  J. 
Johnson,  Jeremiah 
King,  John  B. 
Kellogg,  Mrs. 
Kin<_r,  Gamaliel 
Low,  A.  A. 
Lee,  Wm. 
Lott,  John  P. 
Leavitt,  Edward 
Lyon,  Robert  A. 
Lvon,  George 
Lewis,  Rev.  W.  II. 
Lefferts,  R. 

Lee,  

Leverich,  D.  T. 
Milne,  Peter 
Moody,  Henrv 
Morse,  Dr.  John  F. 
Madden,  Louisa  S. 
.Messenger,  Thomas 
i,  Nchemiah 


Mor 


in,  Mi-, 


Mernlield,  Mrs. 
Marvin,  Dr.  George 
Messenger,  H. 
Morgan,  Mrs.  S. 
Miller,  J.  E. 
Masterton,  W.  J. 
Marston,  Wm. 
Munn,  Wm. 
Morris,  Miss 
McGowan,  Mrs.  E. 
Mr(  Jeorge,  Thomas 
McDonald,  W. 
McBurnev,  Thomas,  Jr. 
McClellan,  Dr.  C.  R. 
McKee,  J.  W. 
Naylor,  John 
Nichols,  M.  C.  E. 
Nufeldt,  Louisa 
Osborn,  A.  H. 

Ostrander,  Dr.  

Ostrom,  A.  P. 
O'Hara,  Peter 
Oimstead,  W.  B. 
Owen,  Mrs. 
Osborn,  J.  W. 
Perry,  J.  A. 
Pierrepont,  H.  E. 
Peck,  Wm.  M. 
Patchen,  Henry 
Patrick,  Mrs.  A 
Parker,  Wm. 
Pitbladdo,  W. 
Pearsall,  J. 
Powell,  Henry 
Pearsall,  S. 
Parmlee,  Mrs.  A.  O. 
Pierrepont,  Mrs  H.  B. 
Roberts,  J. 


,  Clarkson  W. 
•,  Mrs.  Eleanor 
Rosman,  Dr.  R. 
Robertson,  Wm. 
Rorker,  Mrs.  C.  A. 
Russell,  Henry 
Rogers,  Mrs.  A. 
Richards,  Mrs.  A. 
Richards,  B. 
Rogers,  T. 
Redding,  Thomas  H. 
Ransom,  B. 
Stryker,  Francis  B. 
Stifwell,  G.  W. 
Sidell,  A.  H. 
Stilwell,  B.  M. 
Storry,  Rowland 
Sprague,  Wm.  E. 
Sneekner,  Wm. 
Stryker,  B. 
Storry,  Robert  R. 
Stephenson,  Frederick 
Schoonmaker,  Mrs. 
Sherman,  J.  W. 
Sawyer,  Miss  H.  A. 
Smith,  J.  A. 
Spooncr,  A.  J. 
Smith,  J.  C. 
Spinola,  F. 
Sheldon,  Leavitt 
Smith,  Lucius 
nith,  C.  P. 


Sunt,  Sa, 


Spies,  F.  A. 
Stone,  Rev.  Dr. 
Stebbins,  Asa 
Serimgeour,  Wm. 
Spear,  Calvin 
Seaman,  D.  K. 
Spooner,  Henry 
Swertcope,  John 
Shipley,  Thomas 
Shepard,  J.  II. 
Tomsey,  A. 

!,  Thomas 


Tit 


'.  II. 


Tombs,  A. 
Thompson,  S. 
Taylor,  E.  E.  L. 
Thompson,  S.  W. 
Talmadge,  Thomas  G. 
Terry,  Henry 
Underhill,  J. 
Utter,  Samuel  S. 
Underhill,  Alexander 
Underhill,  Clarkson 
Volmer,  John  A. 
Van  Dyke,  John 
Van  Ness,  Dr.  J. 


Van 


:,  N. 


Voorhees,  Judah  E 
Van  Voorhees,  Miss  A.  S. 
Van  Nostrand,  A. 
Voorhies,  J. 
Van  Brunt,  W.  B. 
Van  Brunt,  Adriance 
Van  Brunt,  John  A. 
Van  Benschoten,  Samuel 
Wadsworth,  G.  B. 
Weeks,  Willet 
White.  Miss  Martha 
White,  Edward  D 
White,  S.,  Jr. 
Wilkinson,  M. 
Wheelwright,  G. 
Whitlock,  E.  J. 
White.  T. 

Wadsworth,  Washington 


NAMES  OF  THE  ORIGINAL  SUBSCRIBERS. 


Wilkin.-,  Mrs.  Henry 
White,  Mrs.  H.  C. 
Whitman,  Alexander  A. 
Weed,  Mrs.  M. 
WvckofT,  H.  S. 
Wells.  Dr.  P.  P. 
WyckofT,  Van  Brunt 
Westervelt,  Mrs.  J. 
Wilson,  Joseph 
Wood,  J.  G. 
Willu'lniina  &  Branson 
W„„d.  John  Jay 
Whittelsey,  Elisha 
Webster,  Hosea 


Abbott,  Dr.  S.  L..  Jr. 
Alexander,  Charles  A. 
Adams,  Dr.  Z.  B. 
Atkins,  Isaiah 
Appleton,  S. 
Appleton,  N. 
Appleton,  Mrs.  T.  A. 
Adams,  Benjamin 
Allen,  Freeman 
Adams,  C.  F. 
Howditeh.  J.  Ingersoll 
Brimmer,  Martin 
Boles,  John 
Boynton,  G.  W. 
Bush,  James  P. 
Bradlee,  Josiah 
Brigham,  Levi 
Burton,  Hazen  J. 
Blackburn,  George 
Baylev,  Samuel  K. 
Blanchard,  W 


Bro 


,;itlia. 


B. 


nchard,  Wm.  G. 
Bacon,  Daniel  C. 
Blanchard,  John  A. 
Brooks,  Edward 


,d.  G.  . 


B.  F. 


e  Win 


Barnes,  D.  W. 
Brewster,  J. 
Converse,  James  C. 
Colley,  Benjamin  E. 
Carey,  Alpheus 
Codman,  Edward 
Curtis,  Nathan 
Cashing,  Thomas  P. 
Gary,  Isaac  H. 
Cochrane,  S.  Q. 
Cooke,  Josiah  P. 
Curtis,  Samuel  S. 
Curtis,  J.  F. 
Cooper,  Robert 
Cotting,  Amos 
Carter,  R.  B. 
Darracott.  George 
Dana,  A.  N. 
Davis,  Thomas 
Dexter,  Thomas  A. 
Dodd,  James 
Dana,  Samuel 
Davis,  Henrv 
Dewhurst,  Wm. 
Doane,  Miss  C. 
Dixwell,  J.  J. 
Davis,  J.,  Jr. 
Eliot.  Samuel  A. 
Edwards,  J.  W. 


Eldridge,  O. 
Fairs.  Mrs.  Samuel 
Flint,  Waldo 
Francis,  Nathan 
Fairbanks,  H.  P. 
Farnham,  Henry 
Frothingham,  Samuel 
Forbes,  F.  H. 
F'airficld,  John 
Foster,  Joseph 
Fletcher,  Richard 
Fuller,  Henry  H. 
Goodwin,  Ozias 
Goodrich,  Ira 
Gould,  James 
Greenough,  Wm. 
Goodrich,  C.  B. 
Gregg,  Dr.  Samuel 
Gould,  B.  A. 
Gray,  J.  C. 
Glover,  Henry  R. 
Greene,  D. 
Heard,  Augustine 
Hosmcr,  Zelotes 


Hanscombe,  A. 
Howe,  Joseph  N.,  Jr 
Harvey,  Peter 


i,  Geor 


Ho\ 

Hewins,  Samuel  K. 
Hennessey,  Edward 
Heard,  Mrs.  John 
Hooper,  Robert 
Howe,  I.  L. 
Henderson,  Charles 
Hall,  A.  T. 
Inches,  Miss 
Jones,  Eliphalet 
Jameson,  Wm.  II. 
Johnson,  James  B. 
Jones,  Cyrus 
Kimball,  Daniel 
Kelleher,  John 
Karuth,  Nathan 
Kendall,  Abel 
Kuhn,  G.  H. 
Lawrence,  Abbott 
Lee,  Sarah 
Loring,  John  G. 
Lloyd,  Daniel 
Lamson,  J. 
Loring,  Henry 
Lobdell,  T.  J. 
Loring,  Benjamin 
Lewis,  S.  S. 
Lovejoy,  W.  B. 
Locke,  Lyman 
Leland,  Sherman 
Lothrop,  S.  K. 
Locke,  Charles  A. 
Lawrence,  Amos  A. 
Lincoln,  M.  S. 
Lawrence,  Wm. 
Lewis,  Joseph 
Low,  Dr.  A.  S. 
Mayo,  Edward  R. 
Messenger,  G.  W. 
May,  John 
Mead.  Samuel  O. 
Miles,  Walter 
Mills,  Charles 
McBurney,  C. 
Norcross,  Otis 
Nolen,  S.,  Jr. 
Newhall,  D.  B. 


Noble,  Wm. 
Oliver,  Francis  J. 
Oxnard,  H.  P. 
Pope,  Lemuel 
Perkins,  Mary  T. 
Parker,  Charles  H. 
Parker.  John  W. 
Pope,  H.  K. 
Putnam,  Catharine 
Parker,  Isaac 
Parker,  W.  H. 
Parker,  Peter 
Perry,  Thomas 
Parker,  Daniel  P. 
Prince,  John  T. 
Richards,  Reuben 
Rogers,  George 
Robbins,  E.  H. 
Reynolds.  Edwin 
Read  &  Chadwick 
Russell,  James 
Rich,  Benjamin 
Rand,  L. 
Robinson,  J.  P. 
Read,  Wm. 
Rice,  Israel  C. 
Raymond,  Edward  A. 
Rollins,  Mrs.  E. 
Reed.G.  P. 
Reynolds,  Wm. 
Sturgis,  Russell 
Shattuck,  Dr.  George  C. 
Stearns,  Joseph  G. 
Snow,  H.  A. 
Skinner,  S.  N. 
Smith  &  Sumner 
Sewall,  S.  E. 
Stedman,  D.  B. 
Shaw,  Charles  B. 
Stone,  Wm.  W. 
Snow,  Mrs.  Thomas 
Stone,  Henry  B. 

Savage,  James 
Shaw,  Robert  G. 
Smart,  Mrs.  Ann 
Sargent,  L.  M. 

Simpson,  M.  H. 
Sibley,  Henry 
Tudor,  Frederick 
Tirrell,  Edward  C. 
Tappan,  John 
Tisdale,  M. 
Taylor,  Richard 
Thompson,  N.  A. 
Tucker,  John  L. 
Throw.  Samuel  T. 
Trull,  John 
Tremlet,  Mrs.  F. 
Trull,  John  W. 
Timing,  S.  C. 
Thayer,  B.  W. 
Varney,  Mrs.  George  R. 
Wigglesworth,  Mrs.  T. 
Williams,  Henrv  L. 
Whiting,  Caleb 
Wilder.  Marshall  P. 
Willis.  Nathaniel 
W?itherbee,  J.  B 
Williams,  David  \V. 
Weld,  John  D. 
Whall,  Joseph  B. 
Winslow,  George 
Warren,  S.  D. 


Whiton,  J.  P. 
Winsor,  N,  Jr. 
Welles,  Mrs. 
Wolcott,  J.  H. 
Watts,  Miss 
Webb,  G.  J. 
Whitt 


Win 


r.  F.  1 


PROVIDENCE, 

Allen,  Zachariah 
Dennis,  D.  L 
Foster,  F.  F. 
Kent,  Dr.  J.  Emerson 
King,  Wm.  J. 
Kelly,  Alexander 
Knight,  J.  C. 
Lock  wood,  M.  B. 
Mathewson,  Miss  P. 
Paine,  Mrs.  Amaranev 
Sawin,  E.  D. 
Smith,  Richard 
Taylor.  Richard  B. 
Warren,  Russell 
White.  Thomas 
WiN  in.  Samuel  S. 


STOCKS  E  ID  G  E. 
Dresner,  J.  B. 


FL,ATBU§II, 

L.  I. 

Bogardus,  C.  S. 
Bogardus,  Mrs.  Gilbert  M. 
Crook,  Mrs.  Philip  S. 
Duryee,  Miss  Helen  N. 
Duryee,  Mrs.  C. 
Green,  Wm.  H. 
Johnson,  David 
Lott,  Mrs.  Ann  M. 
Lott.  Mrs.  Mary 
Martense,  Mrs.  Helen 
M  i  r  | ill  y ,  Thomas 
Robinson,  Dr. 


TORONTO, 

Harris,  T.  D. 


MIDDLETOWN, 
Duffield,  Mrs. 


Robii 


,  D. 


Stilenworth,  Jacob 
Storer,  Edward 
Ynnderhilt,  John 
Varina,  Charles 
Vandcrbilt,  John,  Jr. 
Willink,  J.  A. 


Bartlett,  Mrs.  

Duncan,  F. 
McNeil,  J. 
Sammis,  Edson  A. 
Wakeman,  Walter 
Young,  Mrs.  J.  S. 


JAMAICA, 

Ilagner,  Henry  J. 
Hogan,  Mrs.  Michael 
Kelsey.  Thomas  H. 
Mills,  N.  S. 
Nelson,  Benjamin  S. 


Batterson,  James  G 


Ailing,  Horace 
Crocket,  Mrs. 
Duncombe,  C.  T. 
Grant,  Charles 


PATER  SOX, 


OCT"  Subscribers'  names  omitted  I 


i  list  will  be  given  at  the  conclusion  of  the  Mount-Auburn  scries. 


B 


E  v'     **;  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥     ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  •* 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
k  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥:  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  > 

¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
K'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  i 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥•  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
if;  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  \ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
if'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  j 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
£¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥  J 

¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥¥¥¥  ¥  ¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥¥¥¥ 
►f'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  I 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
K  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  | 

¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥¥ 
if'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  '  ¥  I 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  V  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
If'    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥.   ¥.   ¥.   ¥.    ¥  § 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
£¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥*  I 

¥  ¥'  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
If    ¥    ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  | 

¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
If'    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥¥¥    ¥¥¥    ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥  j 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
if'   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥  ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥  ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥  I 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
g   ¥   ¥'   ¥'   '¥'   ¥'    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥'   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  1 

¥  '¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
if'   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥  '? 

¥  ¥'  '¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
k'    ¥   ¥   ¥'   ¥'    ¥'   .¥.   ¥   ¥    *    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥'   ¥   ¥'   ¥    ¥  »¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥  I 

'¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  '¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥' 
K'   ¥   ¥   ¥   '¥   ¥'    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   '¥    ¥    ¥'   ¥   ¥'   ¥'   ¥   ¥    ¥'    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥  ¥ 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  *  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
n"   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥.  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  > 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  '¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥'¥¥¥¥¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  J 
f'   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥   '¥    ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥  I 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥.  '¥  *  ¥  ¥'  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥' 
i    ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥   .¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    *    ¥   ¥'   ¥'   ¥'   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥'  '•< 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  .¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
i    ¥    '¥'    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥'    ¥'   ¥'   ¥'    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    *  I 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  -  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  *  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
f'   ¥    ¥'   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥'   ¥   ¥   ¥'    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥   '¥'   ¥   ¥.    ¥  I 

¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥'  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
f'   ¥   ¥'    ¥¥'¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥'¥¥   ¥'    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥  '• 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
i    ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥'¥¥¥¥¥    ¥   ¥   ¥'   ¥'   ¥'    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥  ':■ 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
5    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥  ¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
ST  ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥  ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥  ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥   ¥  ¥   ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥  ¥'1 

¥'¥'¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  '¥¥'¥¥¥¥ 
¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  I 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥  ¥¥¥¥'¥¥¥¥ 
if;  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  •¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥r  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ; 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
U"  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
K   ¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥  1 
if  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  •¥  ¥  ¥ 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
K  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
If'  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  "¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 

¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 
K  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 
h    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥    ¥¥¥¥¥¥    ¥    ¥    ¥   ¥   ¥  ¥ 
¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥   ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥  ¥ 

L-    V    in*    '¥    ¥'    ¥'     ¥     ¥  ¥    ¥'  '¥     ¥    ¥'    '¥    ¥     ¥     ¥  ¥     ¥     ¥    ¥     ¥    ¥  ¥ 


*      0      *      0      *      0      *      *      *      $      +      *      *     .Hr      *.      0 '     *      *      #     *     0.      *     *      *      *  ¥ 

u?.  >'  .¥  ?k  m  ;^        ¥        ¥  ¥     ¥        ¥  '■ 

0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0   0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  '0 

0    0     0    0    &  0     0 0.    0.    0.    0.    0.    0     0     0.    0.     0 0     0     0     0     0     0     0    0  0 
¥    #     0.    0.     0     0.     0     0.     0     0     0.     0     0     0     0.     0     0     0.     0.     0.    0    0    0    ''0    0    '  0 

0.  0  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ '.  0.  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  ' 

0    0    0.    0.    0    0    0    0  0    0    0    0    0    0    *    0    *    0    0    0    0    0    0    0  0 

0.  •  W    "0.    0     0.     0     0     0     0     0.     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0  0 

¥  ¥   ¥  %   ¥   *   ¥   ¥   ¥    00    0.   0.  0  0   0  0.   0.  0   0  0   0   0   0   0  0 

0       0.       0.       0       0.       0.       0       0       0.       0       0.       0       0.       0       0       0.       0       0      0       0       0.      0.       0.       0  'Ms&' 

t   0    0    0    00000    0    0    0000    0     00000    00    0  0^.0 

0  0'  0  0  0  0  0!  0  0  0]  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  ■ 
i    0     0    0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0    0     0     0     0     0     0    0    0  0 

00000000     0.     0.     0     0     +     0000000     0     0     0     0     0  0 
?    0     0    0    0    0    0    0    0  000000000000000000 

0     0.     0    0'.    0    0     0     0    0    0'.    0    0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0    0    0     0    0  0 
i     0     0     0     0     0     0     0    0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0    0  0 

0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0  0 

•  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0.  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0 
0     0     0     0.     0     0     0     0    0    0     0     0     0-  0-    0     0     0    0     0    0     0     0     0     0     0  0 

f       0       0       0        0        0        0        0        0       0        0        0        0        0        0        0        0       0        0        0       0        0       0        0       0       0  0 

0     0     0    0.     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0.     0    0    0    0     0     0     0  , 

*  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0 
0      0     0     0     0     0     0      0      0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0  0 

0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0    0  0 

0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0      0      0     0     0     0     0     0  0 
H     0     0     0     0     0     0     0      0     0     0.    0    0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0      0     0    0     0    0  0 

0     0     0     0.     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0    0     0     0     0     0  ■  0     0    0     0     0     0  0 
0      0      0     0     0     0     0     0      0      0  -  0.     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0      0      0     0     0     0     0     0  0 

0     0     0     0    0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0.     0.     0     0     0     0     0    0     0     0     0  0 
0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0      0     0     0     0     0     0      0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0      0     0  0 

0    0     0     0     0    0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0      0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0      0     0     0  0 
0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0.     0      0     0     0     0      0     0     0      0      0  0 

0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0]  0  0  0  0  0  , 
0.    0     0.     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0.     0     0     0     0     0.    0    0    0.    0    0    0    0    0    0.  0. 

0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0    0     0     0     0     0     0     0      0     0     0     0     0     0      0      0      0  0 
0     0     0     0     0     0'     0    0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0      0      0  0 

0      0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0      0     0      0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0      0  * 
0     0     0     0     0     0     0    0    0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0    0    0     0     0.     0     0     0      0  0 

0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0      0     0     0     0     0     0     +     0      *  + 
0     0      +      0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0      0     0     0      0     0     0      0     0      0     0      +     +      +  * 

0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0]     +     0     0    0    0     0     0     0     0     0    0    0    0     0  0 
0     0     0     0     0    0    0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0    0     0      0     0     0  0 
'     0     0     +     +     0     +     0     +     +     0     0     0     +     +     +     0      +     +     0     0     0      0     0      0      0  ± 
0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0      0     0      0     0     0.     0     0     0     0     0    0     0.     0     0      0  0 

0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  +         +  +  +  +  0  +  +  +  +  0  0         0  +  +  +  +  0 

0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  +  +  0  0  ^ 
0     0      0     0     +     +     +     +     +     +     +      +     +      +     +     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     +     +      +  ^ 

0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  ?f 
[0    0     0    0    0     0    0    0     0     0     0    0     0     0     0     0     0     0    0    0    0    0    0     0    0  0 

0  0  0  +  0  +  0  +  +  +  +  0  +  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  +  0  +  +  0  jf 
.     0     0     0     0     0    0     0     0     0     0     0    0     0     0     0     0      0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     +  + 

+     0     +     0     0     +     0     0     0     0     +     0     0    0    0    0     0    0    0    0    0    0     0     0    0     0  0 

,      +      +       +       +      +       +      0      +      +       +      +      +       +       +       +       0       0      0      0      0      0      0      0       +       +  0 

0  0  0  0  0.  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0.  0  0  0  0.  0  0  0  0  0  0 
i     0     0    0    0     0    0    0     0     0     0     0    0    0     0     0    0     0    0    0    0    0    0    0     0     0  0 

0  0  0  0  0  0  0  +  +  +  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0.  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0_ 
r.     0     0    0    0     0     0    0     0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0     0     0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0     0  . 

0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0. 
$000000000000    0    00    0    0    0    000    0  0000] 

0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0.  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0.  0. 
i    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0     0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0  I 

0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0 
i    0    0    0    0    0     0    0    0    0     0     0    0     0     0    0     0     0     0    0    0    0    0    0    0     0    0  ] 

0,  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0 
£    0    0    0    0    0    0000000    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    0  0: 

0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0 
k     0    0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0     0.     0.     0     0.    0    0    0     0  0. 

0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0 
k     0     0     0    0     0     0     0     0     0    0     0    0     0    0     0.     0.     0    0.    0     0    0    0    0    0    0     0  : 

0  ,0  +'0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0  0 
frA^g,  l'5*.   0      0      0     0     0     ¥     0     0      0     0.     0     0.     0.      0.     0     0     0.     0     0.     0     0      0     0.  .: 


